Luthiel's Song: Dreams of the Ringed Vale

by Robert Marston Fannéy

  Hearing those fell voices, Vaelros cried out again.

  “They’re hurting you! You must leave. Can you run?”

  Vaelros nodded.

  “I can certainly run from them!” He stumbled away from her making his way toward the woods.

  “Thank you!” There were tears streaming down his cheeks. Whether they were pain, happiness, or both she couldn’t tell. Luthiel felt tears welling in her own eyes in answer.

  “Your life and spirit restored is all the thanks I need. Now get out of here!” she said.

  There was a commotion at the gates. It sounded as though they were trying to break out from the inside.

  “They are coming to murder me!”

  With that, he plunged into the Vale of Mists. The mists closed in behind him.

  “Fly Vaelros! But come back when this has passed!” she cried.

  From out of the Gates of Ottomnos, six dark figures rode. But behind them came Othalas. Soon, he outdistanced them, coming to stand beside Luthiel.

  “Get on!” he growled at her.

  She bounded onto his back.

  Melkion shot out of the mists, tilted up on a wingtip as he turned and then landed upon her shoulder.

  “A fine fix you’ve gotten yourself into now!” he cried.

  The Six came to a halt before them.

  “Leave her to us,” Evaldris said, pointing at Luthiel with his sword tip. Her skin prickled and she felt a sudden, overpowering urge to run.

  “If you give her up and tell us where he went, we may let you live.”

  “You will not have her,” Othalas growled, then tilted his head back and let out a howl that mounted on the very walls of the Vale, spilled over and then came rebounding back almost as loud as the first time. From the gates of Ottomnos rode the three Vyrl. They formed up on either side of Luthiel—Ahmberen and Elshael to her right, Ecthellien to her left. Their monster horses snorted and pawed the earth.

  “The Lady is not to be harmed,” Ecthellien said. “Unless you wish to begin your war now. Then you would face all the might of the Vale. As it seems you’ve already lost one of your number. I am afraid that the odds would be very long.”

  The cold wolves growled.

  “The negotiations are over,” Evaldris said in whisper that seemed to carry far through the mists. “By treachery you have turned Vaelros and now we must see to him. But your acts won’t be forgotten.”

  “Turned! I say saved!” Luthiel cried. “Vaelros escaped a nightmare of lingering death. It is one you should know well—for you live there. Would that you had the chance he did. But, alas, there is no hope for you.”

  “Vyrl, whatever tortures you have performed on this girl have surely driven her mad. It is a shame that you have resorted to such base acts. One thing is very clear to us now. She is your creature and she has done great harm to our captain. This aggression will not be without an answer.”

  With that, they turned their wolves and bounded into the Vale. Soon, she couldn’t tell their shapes from the swirling clouds.

  Her heart sank as she watched them.

  “How long before they find Vaelros?” she asked.

  “Even if they are great hunters, they will have trouble in the Vale. It is teeming with creatures. If you wish we can send word—they will help him,” Ahmberen said.

  “Yes, please,” she said. “Whatever ill he has done was under terrible threat. He is a kind man, and gentle-natured. If he were not, I think he would have long ago become like the rest of them.” She nodded in the direction of the Six.

  Ecthellien pulled a horn from his belt and blew four times. Four great blasts rolled across the Vale. From both the wood and the fortress poured grendilo and other creatures of the Vale—werewolves and giants with skin of bark and hair of moss and eagle-headed lions and lion-headed horses and birds whose wings burned and other much stranger beasts.

  They formed in a great company before Ecthellien and he rode his monster horse back and forth before them.

  “Six riders on fey wolves hunt a lone man on foot in our Vale!” he cried. “We would not have this man be taken! Go now! Tell your fellows! Give him whatever aid you can and hide him from their eyes!”

  He brought his horn to his lips again and let out four more peals. As quickly as they had formed, the company broke, melting again into the mists.

  “Thank you,” she said to Ecthellien as he returned to her side.

  “I think we should thank you,” Ahmberen said. “You have already turned one who would have killed us away from that path—though he may not yet know it.”

  Luthiel nodded.

  “I didn’t think of it that way.”

  “No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” Elshael said. “It was a good-hearted thing. But it was also very reckless. You could have been killed or taken.”

  “Lady, I am sorry. I will try to be more careful,” she said.

  “Elshael, don’t be so hard on her. She will have to take many more risks, I am afraid. And most of those will be far more dangerous than what happened here this day,” Ahmberen said.

  Elshael nodded to Ahmberen.

  “You’re probably right. I don’t have to like it, though.”

  “Nor do we all,” Ahmberen said. “But remember, Luthiel didn’t choose this.”

  With that, they rode single file, back through the yawning gates of Ottomnos.

  Lady of Ottomnos

  Luthiel spent the rest of the afternoon sitting atop the battlements. She’d already eaten the lunch Rendillo had brought her and now she sat staring out into the mists worrying about Vaelros. She could hear the wintry howl of wolves far off. The answering calls of werewolves comforted her somewhat as did the horn peals of Ecthellien—who’d ridden out to help find Vaelros and return him safely to Ottomnos. As she sat there, hoping to see Vaelros emerge from the mists, the day darkened. Soon Soelee set and Oerin’s eye followed after. Stars winked into view and, in far too short a time, she found herself confronted with the night.

  As Silva rose, she saw Ecthellien returning alone. Her heart sank.

  “Did you find him?” she called from the gates.

  “No, lady, we did not,” he replied.

  “Oh,” she said.

  “Don’t be afraid, Luthiel. His hunters are lost in the mists now. The Vale is not a place for tracking. Scents drift through the mist and are carried on invisible rivers through the air in all directions. Worse, you often cannot see the hand in front of your face, much less the prints on the ground.”

  Luthiel felt little comfort, but thanked him for his reassurance, nonetheless.

  “Dinner is waiting for you in the Great Hall,” Ecthellien said. “We wanted you to sit with us before tonight.”

  Luthiel felt cold and anxious. She didn’t know if she’d be able to eat anything. The hall, with its long, blood-stained table, didn’t appeal to her as a place for dining. But she climbed down from the battlements and fell into step beside Ecthellien despite her misgivings.

  What choice do I have? she wondered.

  When she entered the great hall she found that a long board had been laid over the table covering the blood-stained holes. The floor space around was wet and showed signs of scrubbing. Throughout the hall, flir bug bulbs were hung and flower petals lay scattered over every surface. The air smelled of flowers, fresh grass and open air. But she still thought she could catch a whiff of blood and metal.

  Melkion, who’d kept watch upon her from a distance for most of the day, winged his way into the chamber. He landed on the back of her Silen and white-wood chair which was at the far end of the table. A flir bug bulb rested in the table’s center casting its dancing light across the polished board.

  Ecthellien walked before her, leading her to the chair. He slid it out for her, inviting her to sit down before he returned to his place among the other Vyrl. For once, the Vyrl were silent, seeming content to gaze upon her. Othalas came into the room last of all, padding on quiet feet till he reached the end of the chamber. S
he hadn’t seen him all afternoon and wondered where he’d gone.

  Then the grendilo came out of a door at the far end of the chamber. They were carrying covered plates, each balanced precisely on their heads as they hopped toward her. When they came to the table they laid the plates out in front of her. Each plate was artfully decorated with garnishes of flowers, butter, honey, or jelly. One was arranged with cuts of fruit in the shape of a flower, a second held slices of some delicately carved meat in a glaze of orange and red, a third was piled with steaming vegetables glistening with butter and honey. Slices of black bread were laid out upon a plate beside her.

  She opened her eyes wide at the feast laid out before her.

  “Thank you,” she said. She was again amazed at the civility of the Vyrl, who still seemed to her as savage, dark creatures.

  “You are welcome,” Ahmberen replied. “We wanted to let you know how much we appreciate what you have done for us.”

  As she looked over the food, she wondered if Vaelros would find anything to eat this night. Or was he still running—cold and alone—through the Vale of Mists? Looking at the food, she felt a moment of guilt for her relative comfort.

  But how long will it last? she thought. How comfortable will I be when they drink my blood again?

  Her head still ached a little from when Ahmberen struck her. Her bite wounds were healing as well. Soon, she would no longer need her bandages. But they said they would take enough blood tonight to last them a year.

  She shuddered, suddenly feeling not at all hungry.

  “Luthiel? Are you well?” Elshael asked.

  “I was just thinking about Vaelros,” she said.

  “Put your worry aside,” Ecthellien said. “His six companions have lost him as have we. But there are hundreds of grendilo and thousands of eyes on the wing who will bring word of him to us, once they find him.”

  “Listen to Ecthellien,” Ahmberen said. “And please try to enjoy your dinner. It is a gift, the first of many that we have for you this evening.”

  “Gifts?”

  “Yes. To demonstrate our admiration of you and to serve as proof of our good intentions.”

  Reluctantly—for her stomach still felt tight—she took a small bite of the glazed meat.

  It was delicious!

  She cut off another piece and soon that was gone as well. Her apprehension faded as she enjoyed her meal.

  “It is good!” she said between mouthfuls.

  For once, the Vyrl smiled at her. She quickly averted her eyes but it was too late for she caught a glimpse of wicked teeth. Taking a deep breath, she returned to her delicious meal.

  They’re just fattening me up, she thought. But she found herself carried away once more by delicious enchantment.

  When she was finished with the main courses, the grendilo brought out a black cake covered in melted chocolate with a hollow reservoir in the center filled with some golden liquid.

  “This one is mine,” Melkion said. Leaning over her shoulder, he stretched out his long neck, opened his mouth and let out a thin tongue of flame. The flame licked the liquid’s surface, setting it alight. The flame’s heat melted the chocolate coating causing it to run all over the cake.

  “Now, blow it out,” Melkion said.

  She filled her lungs and exhaled. The flame extinguished in a wisp of smoke. It looked so good, her mouth watered. Delicately, she cut a small slice off and brought it to her mouth.

  “Get some of the liquor on it. It tastes better that way,” Melkion said.

  She dipped the cake in the golden liquid and then put it into her mouth. The liquor, warmed by the flame, melted into the cake which, in turn, melted on her tongue.

  “Mmmm!” she said, hungrily cutting another piece off.

  “Glad you like it!” Melkion said with a wink.

  Hungrily, almost soundlessly, she devoured the rest of her cake. As she ate, Ahmberen spoke.

  “Tonight is very special to us,” Ahmberen said. “We intend to make it so for you as well. We welcome you, Luthiel, to become as one of us. For though you are not a Vyrl, your blood is of closer kin to ours than to any elf. For the blood that we will take tonight we will honor you as we honor each other. You will possess a full fourth of all that is ours. Each year that you grant us blood, we too will grant you tokens of our riches. Further, you will command our minions as we do. From this day forward, wights, grendilo and other creatures of the Vale will know you as queen. They will answer your call, ready to do your bidding.”

  Ahmberen paused, allowing Luthiel to consider his words.

  “Melkion,” he said, after waiting a few moments. His voice echoed through the chamber which was slowly filling with a multitude of strange creatures. Ravens with feathers of green, gold or silver perched in the windows. Perched beside them were orange birds with flaming wings and eyes like rubies. The grendilo were joined by wights, giants and strange chimera creatures. Even the mists seemed to gather in that chamber, the green lights flooding in through doors and windows until all the air was aglitter with them.

  Melkion hopped from the chair’s back and onto the table. He dipped his head in a slight bow.

  “Yes, Ahmberen?” he said.

  “Long ago you came here searching for someone. In exchange, you pledged to serve us as our messenger. Is Luthiel the one you sought?”

  “She is,” he said, turning his head to glance at Luthiel. “She has the broken blade—Cutter’s Shear.”

  Luthiel looked at him curiously.

  “Then we release you from our service. You may go where you wish, but for your good service all these long years, we grant you our friendship. You may enter the Vale whenever you choose without fear of its creatures. You are welcome in our fortress and we grant you three boons to ask at any time of your choosing.”

  Melkion bowed again, this time deeper.

  “Ahmberen, you have become gracious—it suits you,” he said, then turned to Luthiel. “If you will have me, lady, I would like to stay with you. There is a boon I would ask of you when the time comes. Until then, will you have me?”

  A dragon asking to serve her? She didn’t know how to reply.

  “It would be an honor, Melkion,” she said.

  “Now that that’s settled,” Ahmberen said. “We each have a gift for you—tokens of our love for you.”

  As he spoke, Elshael stood and walked toward Luthiel.

  “Stand up,” Melkion whispered in her ear.

  She glided out of her chair and turned to face Elshael who held a velvet case before her.

  “Of old in the days when Eledweil was still new and full of life, the Aedar who lived there crafted of Eledril—the moonsteel of Eledweil—crowns for their lords and ladies among the Elohwe. These circlets were of the finest make—light as air upon the heads that bore them. Woven within that precious metal were Esilis—tiny stones that shone with the light of stars. By craft that is now lost, the crowns could be made to appear as only a thin thread of silver or to shine brightly like a crown of stars. In later days, during the ancient wars of heaven and Oesha, the crowns were worn by the greatest heroes among angels and elves. For creatures of the void feared the lights when revealed in their fullness.” She opened the box and within lay a crown of impossibly thin filigree. Trapped within the weave were lights that burned like the brightest stars of night. “It is akin to Wyrd Stones—that contain the spirit of Lumen who was the first light of creation—for stars are the children of Lumen. Spirits of the void have always feared stars, for it was with their light that Ëavanya built the walls of night that were meant to ward them from creation.”

  Luthiel stared at it in wonder.

  “It is so beautiful,” she whispered.

  “Go on, take it from the box,” Elshael said.

  Luthiel lifted the glistening crown from its box. It was light as a cloud in her hand and its brilliance chased the shadows into the far corners of that great chamber.

  “This is the last of the Neltherduel—the cr
owns of light. Here, let me help you.” She lifted the crown and placed it gently on Luthiel’s head. Luthiel could barely feel it. It was lighter than gossamer but its radiance made everything around her stand out in soft relief.

  Elshael grasped Luthiel’s hand, bringing her forefinger to the center of her forehead.

  “Blink your eyes,” she said.

  Luthiel did as she asked. When her eyes fluttered open, the light was gone.

  “Do it again.”

  Luthiel obliged her and the light returned.

  “If you don’t wish to reveal the light, just touch the crown and blink your eyes. If you want to bring it back, just do the same thing again.”

  Luthiel nodded.

  “Thank you lady, I will treasure it always.” Luthiel didn’t know what else to say.

  Luthiel placed her finger to her forehead and blinked. The bright light faded.

  Elshael kissed her forehead and then backed away.

  As she returned to her throne, Ecthellien stood. He held before him a long, black bundle which he presented to her. Undoing the cloth, he withdrew the arching curves of a bow. Strung, it reached her chin.

  “This is one of the bows of the Aedar. Fashioned of the heartwood of a life-tree it is very difficult to break and if cloven or fractured will mend itself.”

  He ran his finger along the string.

  “This is the hair of a Keirin—a spirit of light, air and storm. And these,” he produced two quivers full of long, black feathered arrows, “are bolts from the armory of Ottomnos. They are old and of the finest make. The heads are all moonsteel.”

  Luthiel accepted the bow from him. Its wood was white as that of her chair and within it were etched subtle designs of stars and moons. A wire of Lumiel was twisted around the midpoint forming a handle. Its ends were plated in grey Somril and a two pronged guide of blue Meril protruded from the handle.

  “Thank you,” she said bowing to him as he knelt and kissed her on the forehead.

  Ahmberen was already standing beside Ecthellien. In his hand he held a tiny pouch which he gave to Luthiel.

  Luthiel opened the pouch to find a beautiful platinum ring set with white stones. The pattern was of waves and a shape like a whirlpool swirled around a signet stone.