Luthiel's Song: Dreams of the Ringed Vale

by Robert Marston Fannéy

  “This ring is a Kelebrith—a key to Ottomnos. It was Valkire’s once, now it is yours. Touch it to any door in the fortress and it will be open to you. Library, treasury, armory, they are all unlocked by this key.”

  She held the ring in the palm of her hand.

  “It is too large,” she said.

  “Put it on,” the Vyrl replied.

  She placed the ring on her finger and gasped as it shrank to fit. She turned her hand over looking at the band in amazement.

  Ahmberen handed her a bag of coin that had hung around his waist.

  “A fourth of all the wealth of Ottomnos is yours, of which this is only a small part.”

  Then, he bent and kissed her upon the forehead.

  When Ahmberen returned to his throne, Othalas rose from where he lay at the head of the table.

  “Though I have long served the Vyrl,” he said. “I am my own creature and ultimately choose who I will have. They now recognize you as both a partner and an equal; I offer myself and my kin to your service and protection. If you must ride into danger or to war, I ask you to take me—for I sense that your road will be long and difficult running through many dangers before reaching its end.”

  “Othalas, greatest of all wolves, if I have you with me then I don’t know how any danger could touch me. This is a gift far greater than any I would have thought possible.”

  Othalas laughed in his gravelly way.

  “Aye, lady, I may be great. But do not be deceived. There are some creatures in this world and the other that are my equal or better in might, cunning, or terror.”

  “If it is as you say, then you will be very welcome to come with me. Though I hope I will not have to face any more terror. I have seen enough, I think, to last a lifetime or more.”

  Othalas chuckled.

  “I hope so too. But if it does not happen as you wish, then I will come when you call me.”

  Ecthellien was standing again and he gave her a small silver horn.

  “Othalas asked me to give this to you,” he said.

  “Sound it and I will come as fast as I am able to,” the werewolf growled.

  Luthiel looked at them each in turn, then walked up to clasp the werewolf around his great neck.

  “I don’t know how I can ever thank you all for what you’ve done,” she said.

  “What you will give tonight, will more than repay us. I will not lie. It is not an easy thing to give,” Ahmberen said.

  Luthiel looked at her feet feeling the lump growing in her throat.

  “I understand,” she said.

  “Then come,” Ecthellien said. “We may as well begin.”

  They stood and advanced until she was surrounded. Melkion assumed his perch upon her shoulder and Othalas rose, stretching his great bulk before he fell in beside her.

  “There is one more gift—the gift of the bond. But that is for after,” Ahmberen said. “Are you ready?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for what is about to happen,” she said. “But I agree with Ecthellien, the sooner this is finished, the better.”

  “Then follow me,” Ahmberen said.

  Gift of the Bond

  He walked down the hall until he came to one of the doors opening to the courtyard. After spending some time in the charred glass tunnels, they emerged into a star-lit courtyard. The mists hung low to the ground, swirling around her feet and legs, but the sky was clear above them except for the occasional swell of mist which would arch up like a grey hill beneath the night sky before sliding away again.

  The gates opened to their approach and then closed again as they passed through.

  They continued down the road until they came to the lake-shore. In front of her, the Miruvoir was still. Occasionally, the mists would break, revealing a perfect sky reflected in the water.

  The Vyrl stopped on the lakeshore.

  “We’re not going to mislead you, Luthiel. There is still some danger,” Ahmberen said.

  “Though your blood helps us to hold the madness at bay, while we are feeding, there is always—the hunger. There is a chance it might overcome us all and we won’t be able to stop feeding.”

  “But you stopped the last time,” Luthiel whispered.

  “Yes, hope that we are able to stop again,” said Ecthellien.

  “Did Valkire suffer the same risks?”

  “Yes,” Ahmberen said.

  “It is only a small risk,” Ecthellien said. “Your blood is very potent.”

  “We just wanted to be completely truthful with you about the danger,” Elshael said.

  Luthiel nodded. Her heart pounded like a drum in her chest. She had begun to believe that the Vyrl had, somehow, been completely turned by some quality in her blood. But now, doubt was again casting its chill over her.

  The Vyrl’s black eyes swirled with slowly dwindling lights. This time, she didn’t turn her eyes from their gaze. She wanted to see them, to stare deep into their abyss and puzzle out their dark mystery. They drew endlessly in on themselves, devouring lights and blackness alike. Was the Vyrl’s control only a façade for the hunger that burned like an all consuming cold within them? For a moment, she stared into the empty eyes of creatures who were once angels and wondered at the terrible might of the thing that had brought them low, making them slaves to hunger. Was it some hurt inflicted on their spirits long ago? Or did some spirit of darkness live within them still, seeking ceaselessly to bend them to its terrible will?

  Unable to bear it any longer, she tore her eyes away.

  Remember, Luthiel, she reminded herself. They ravaged Eledweil. What is my blood compared to the life of an entire moon?

  “This is already decided,” she said. The certainty in her voice belied her terror. “I accept the risk and hope that you are stronger than the darkness within you.” She wondered, for a moment, at what she was saying.

  Ahmberen nodded. “Good,” he said. “Now, it will be easier for you if we do this in the water. It numbs the skin, deadens the pain.”

  Luthiel looked over the misty lake and then began to undress.

  “I hope it works,” she whispered.

  When she was finished, she stood before the Vyrl, naked but for the Wyrd Stone hanging from her neck. There was a chill in the mists about her feet that climbed into her legs and made her shiver. Slowly, she entered the cold water letting its shock rise up her legs, over her pelvis, stomach, chest and finally her neck. Completely immersed but for her head, she shivered as the Vyrl entered the water beside her. The waves they set off lapped over her body.

  In the east, she could see the pale sliver of Lunen rising. It made a silver pathway over the lake. Within the pathway, was the black outline of a small island.

  Ecthellien raised his hand and pointed toward the island.

  “There, see how the light of Lunen makes a path through the water?”

  “Yes,” she whispered through trembling lips.

  “Swim toward the island. We will be with you.”

  She pushed off the bottom and started to swim. For a few strokes, the Vyrl glided through the water beside her—black shapes in the moon-kissed water. Then, she could feel their hands upon her.

  “Keep kicking your legs,” Ahmberen whispered in her ear.

  She did as she was told, gliding gracefully out into the water. All about her the dark night lay in stillness as if it were a predator waiting to pounce upon a trembling prey. To her, a shadow seemed to glide across the moon and the mists seemed to deepen. On the shore, she thought she saw a black cloud rising up among the mists to stretch its inky fingers out over the water. Toward her. Toward the Vyrl.

  For a moment, she froze in fear. Her whole body quivered with anxiety. She forced her legs to move. Then the black mists were upon her. They swirled around the Vyrl rushing in through their mouths and nostrils. Hanging in a cloying shroud over the water.

  Just think about swimming. Just think about swimming. She repeated the thought to herself over and over in time to the kick
ing of her legs, trying to move out from beneath the cloud. The Vyrl were staring at her with their hungry eyes now. In them she could see nothing but madness.

  Then she felt a searing pain in her neck. She gasped. The pain was severe. She felt herself starting to struggle. The hands gripped her tighter. The water splashed. Her face slid below the water. In a panic, she pushed her head above the water again and gulped down the air in hurried gasps. She tried to focus on the island, tried to keep swimming. A second pain seared through her right arm and a third through her left. The Vyrl at her left arm clamped its teeth, shaking its head from side to side driving its teeth deeper. A second panic came over her and she struggled again, kicking her legs hard this time. But the Vyrl’s grip only tightened.

  The Vyrl pulled blood from her in long draws that made her heart race and her vision blur.

  A sickness rose in her stomach, growing until all she wanted was to curl in a ball, sink to the bottom and there be forgotten. But she kept kicking—more to struggle against the creatures that were now drawing the blood from her in great sucking pulls than to move herself any closer to the island.

  She was already growing confused and disoriented with fear and blood loss. The water was black with the night, black with the Vyrl’s bodies and black with her blood—pumping into the Vyrl’s mouths and oozing beyond them into the water. Her hands, wrists, and neck burned but her legs and toes felt as though they were freezing. The coldness crept up her body until it reached her hips, then flooded into her gut and chest. Still she thrashed, but with each passing heartbeat her struggles grew weaker. After a few minutes of struggle, most of the strength had drained from her arms and it was all she could do to keep her legs moving.

  It was a good thing the Vyrl still held her, for she felt certain she was no longer strong enough to swim on her own. She could no longer feel her limbs or even tell if they were moving. A piercing cold settled into her chest.

  For a moment, she passed out. Then, a few seconds later, her eyes fluttered open and she found herself lying upon her back in the water. The black shapes of the Vyrl were still hunched around her body. She forced herself to look away from them. What they were doing was too terrible to watch.

  Slowly, the mists cleared and she found herself staring into the depthless nighttime sky. Lunen shone over the lake’s mirror face. Far to her left, both in the water, and in the sky, she saw the dim orb of Somnos. All of her body felt heavy with fatigue and her stomach was crumpled into a useless bag. She felt both thirsty and nauseous at the same time. Some of her feeling returned. Her neck hurt, her legs hurt. She realized, almost absently, that the Vyrl had moved and were now feeding from different places. One had moved to the other side of her neck. Another was sinking its searing fangs deep into her left leg. The third floated in the water beside her, staring with his mad and hungry eyes. In that moment she felt with certainty that she was lost. The Vyrl’s mouth was a rictus of bloodlust. But he just floated there staring. The battle was going on inside of him, behind the hungry swirl of his eyes. Meanwhile, the other two Vyrl sucked ravenously at her veins. Her heartbeat became a throbbing pang and she struggled against fatigue just to keep her eyes open.

  She realized she was going to die.

  She wanted to live, tried to live, gave one last feeble attempt to throw the Vyrl off. She thrashed, kicked and cried out with a voice that sounded, to her, as though it was very far away. The sickness in her stomach spread and the pain in her chest grew until they were all she could think of. She was so weakened by blood loss that, soon, all she could manage were a few feeble splashes. Somehow, in the struggle, she was twisted around so that her face ended up in the water. She tried to lift her head but found that she lacked the strength. Her hands fell limply in front of her face. Her eyes were still open and she could clearly see the bottom. She might have stood and walked to the far shore if there weren’t two Vyrl latched onto her.

  She was no longer afraid. Instead, she let go. She felt entirely relaxed, even comfortable. It wasn’t so bad now. All the bad parts were over. Most important of all, Leowin was safe. But somewhere in the back of her mind something cried out that she didn’t want to die. Oddly, in the cold of the water, in the cold of her lack of blood, she felt warm. She drifted and she knew, but it didn’t trouble her—except for the part in the back of her mind—that she was very close to dying.

  Around her, the water splashed and she felt herself being jerked back and forth. It was as though two of the Vyrl were fighting over the prize of her body and what paltry bit of blood remained to her. Even now, she could feel the heartbeat in her chest quavering like the wings of a wounded butterfly. Suddenly, another mouth left her and finally the last. It was as though they were grabbed and then forcibly pulled off.

  She felt hot hands lifting her out of the water. Her head bobbed at the end of her neck for she no longer had the strength to support it. But she did manage to open her eyes. She saw the rocks and roots of a bank passing beneath her feet. A rising Cauthraus spilled its red light over everything. To her delirious eyes it looked as though the world was bleeding. In front of her something flickered and she felt warmth on her forehead.

  “What have you done! Look at her, she’s dead!” She could hear Melkion’s voice as though from a long way off. Why was he so far away? she wondered.

  Beside her, Ahmberen growled savagely. “Fool of a dragon! You could never know the way it takes hold.” His breath wistled through bloody teeth. “This time was worse than ever. But it is gone now! And the girl’s not dead yet. Out of my way! She needs to be warmed!”

  The Vyrl’s voice also sounded far away and it dawned on her that something was wrong with her ears.

  She was laid down beside the fire upon a mound of blankets. Another pile of blankets was cast on top of her. Despite the fire and the blankets she shivered uncontrollably. Blood oozed in dark ribbons from the wounds in her arms, legs and neck. She watched on dully for a few moments and then let her eyes close. Her heartbeat alternated between thumping and racing.

  Beside her, she could hear the sounds of bickering.

  “I’m not going to let an elf drink my blood!” said a loud voice. To Luthiel it sounded like Ecthellien but the voice was so savage and so far away that she couldn’t be certain.

  “She is no mere elf! If you don’t, then she may die and we will surely fall into madness. Ecthellien, you must remember your oath!” Ahmberen growled.

  “Oath? Is it worth bearing the pain? We could have it now—all of it.”

  Then, in a lower voice.

  “Ahmberen, you know what I’m talking about. Heart’s life’s blood. We could share it, you and I.”

  She blinked her eyes open again. Slowly, Ahmberen and Ecthellien came into focus. Ahmberen was standing over her with his back to her. Ecthellien faced him. His eyes darted between her and Ahmberen. Away and to the left of Ahmberen, Elshael stood as one in a daze. But she ignored the two. Her black eyes were fixed on Luthiel.

  Ahmberen trembled at Ecthellien’s words. He clenched his fist and then, with what seemed a supreme effort, drew still.

  “Never utter those words again,” Ahmberen said in a low and dangerous voice. “Not in her presence.”

  Despite Ahmberen’s words, the madness was still in Ecthellien’s eyes. In his face, Luthiel could see none of the nobility she’d grown accustomed to. His lips drew back from teeth caked in blood—her blood.

  “It is not enough!” he snarled.

  “Aye, if you listen to the hunger, it is not. But if you only took a moment to think on what you need, you would realize that it is more than enough. You’ve been bewitched.”

  They turned and Luthiel saw that each one held a naked blade. Smoke rose from Ahmberen’s and in the low light she could see its faint red glow. Ecthellien’s was black as night itself but she could see its tip pointing at Ahmberen’s eyes. It quavered, and then it faltered.

  “She’s our last chance to lift the madness,” Ahmberen continued. “Do you know ho
w difficult it was for me to tear myself from her? If I hadn’t, we’d almost certainly have lost her. But now that we’ve taken her blood, we have a year. A whole year, Ecthellien!”

  At that, Ecthellien’s sword point dropped.

  “Just as it was in the days of Valkire?” he replied. The savageness faded from Ecthellien’s voice and was replaced with confusion.

  “Yes,” Ahmberen replied.

  There was another short period of silence.

  “I think I am well. It is passing,” Ecthellien said at last.

  “Good! Quickly now! We don’t have much time!” Ahmberen said, motioning to Luthiel.

  Now that the danger had passed, Luthiel’s strength failed and her sight grew dim.

  A long period of silence followed. It was broken occasionally by low grunts. Throughout this time, her shivering became uncontrollable and her heart raced violently. This scared her terribly. She rocked back and forth, humming to herself, thinking of home and how she’d probably never see it again. What would Leowin think? What would Winowe, Glendoras and Lorethain think? They were the only family she knew. She didn’t want to die here in the Vale of Mists and be forgotten.

  Her chest spasms had just stopped when a cup was placed in front of her. Its contents were hot and the steam of it warmed her face. The cup was thrust into her hands. Its metal felt so hot that she almost dropped it.

  “Drink,” Elshael said with soft melancholy.

  She suddenly felt very thirsty and realized that it was, indeed, a good time to drink. Tilting the cup forward she put her lips over its steaming rim and took a few large gulps. The liquid was hot and it burned her throat at first. It was thick, salty and some of it stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her tongue became alive with a strange, metallic flavor that she found delicious. After a few swallows, though, the burning in her mouth faded to tingling. But, wherever the liquid passed, it left a sensation of warmth. It was as though she were gulping down sunlight. It dripped through her like hot honey. When the flood touched her chest, her heart calmed. The beat paused for a moment, as though taking a breath. Then it resumed its normal course. She felt refreshed—as one waking from a deep sleep.