Luthiel's Song: Dreams of the Ringed Vale

by Robert Marston Fannéy

“Of course! This chair is quite comfortable to sit in and I’ve asked Rendillo to bring me a cot if he can find one.”

  Assured by the sorcerer’s presence, she fell into a deep sleep. This time, there were no nightmares. Only the occasional thought of a Vyrl disturbed her rest. But even these seemed dim and distant, like flashes of lightning that are barely visible on a far horizon. When she sensed them, she would stir, coming up through the layers of sleep to almost waking. But as soon as she sensed them, they faded and she fell back into her dreamless rest.

  She awoke late the next morning to the smell of breakfast—eggs and warm bread. Rendillo had left a tray on the chair beside her bed. In another chair sat Mithorden. He was sitting next to the slit window, staring out into the misty morning. In one hand, he held a cup of steaming tea which he was sipping. Melkion was curled up on the bed beside her, blowing long wisps of smoke with each breath. Sometime late in the night, Othalas had returned from wherever he’d been and was now sitting beside the door. His great golden eyes flashed at her movement.

  “Ah! There you are!” Mithorden said. “I was beginning to think you’d sleep through the day.”

  She yawned and noticed that her throat felt better.

  “I think I needed the rest. You and Melkion said as much. But now, I think I feel much better. Othalas, do you think we could go down to the baths today?” Rendillo had come to sponge her off and to change her bandages from time to time but she felt as though she needed a good bath.

  “Of course!” Othalas growled. “Anything to get you out of that bed you’ve laid in these past three days.”

  Stirred by the noise, Melkion opened an eye.

  “She’s not like you, werewolf. It takes her some time to get over her hurts,” he said.

  Othalas laughed. “There comes a time when resting helps not at all and a body needs to stretch itself, to work the muscles and to feel the wind in its face.”

  Mithorden winked at her.

  “He’s right, you know. I think a journey to the baths would be good for you. It will get you ready for tonight.”

  “Tonight?” she asked. Her throat was getting better. The Yewstaff fruit Mithorden brought was really helping.

  “Yes, Tonight.” Mithorden replied. The steam rose off his teacup and swirled around his face. “The Vyrl have called a council. The first council of Ottomnos. Vaelros has returned. Othalas brought him last night and I am here. There are many things to discuss. I am afraid the Faelands are entering a very troubled time. But there are things that can be done and many who are here have the ability to do them—including you.”

  Luthiel sighed.

  “I promised the Vyrl I will do what I can. But I don’t understand how I can change the mind of Zalos or the other lords.”

  “Alone—you cannot. But here there are some who might help you.”

  “Would you?” she asked.

  “I may indeed!” he said. “It’s not going to be an easy thing, though. Not easy at all! But enough of this! We’ll talk more about it tonight. For now, I think you should enjoy your breakfast before it gets cold.”

  Luthiel looked at the piece of bread she’d been holding in her hand but that she’d forgotten about as she spoke with Mithorden and took a bite out of it.

  “I’m off to tend to a few things before our meeting. I want to have a chance to talk with Vaelros.”

  Luthiel’s ears pricked at the mention of Vaelros’ name.

  “He’s here?”

  “Of course he is! Didn’t you hear me before? Othalas brought him back with him last night. The Vyrl were wise to bring him back. There are many dark things out there hiding in the mists and not the least among them are the six.”

  Luthiel breathed a sigh of relief. She’d felt concern for Vaelros ever since he’d fled from his six companions only days before.

  “Well, at least he’s safe for now,” she said.

  Mithorden nodded.

  “Yes. For now.” He rose from his chair, laid his tea cup on her tray and collected his staff. “I will see you this evening,” he said and then was gone.

  Luthiel found herself wishing he’d stayed. She finished her breakfast, then slowly eased her aching body from the bed.

  She slid into a set of clothes Rendillo had left, cleaned and folded, on a trunk beside her bed.

  Othalas and Melkion led her to the springs. They waited patiently in the mists as she bathed.

  After washing, she floated for a long time in the steaming water, staring up into the mists. First, she thought of the Vyrl’s gifts. They made her feel uneasy, reminding her of her bond with the Vyrl. It was a bond she wished she could be free of. Deep in the caves beneath Ottomnos, she could not sense their thoughts—only hints of the darkness that always lurked in the depths of their minds. She worried that sharing those sensations for too long would make her like them—creatures driven by hunger and fear.

  Then she thought of the night the Vyrl fed upon her. She recalled the intense pain of their bites, thought of how they almost killed her and of the shadow in the mists that drove them to frenzy.

  Will it happen next year? she wondered.

  The darkness of the cave seemed to close in on her and she suddenly felt very alone in the black waters.

  Touching her fingers to her forehead, she blinked her eyes. Starlight filled the cavern, diffusing out into the mists. It wasn’t the uncanny light of her Wyrd Stone but the mists gave this place a wavery quality that reminded her of the world of dreams. Lifting her hand, she looked at the ring Kelebrith sparkling in the light. The white gems captured the starlight then threw it back so that spots of light fell into the water or motes traced white lines through the mists.

  “The key to Ottomnos,” she whispered. “They do want to make me one of them.”

  Or perhaps they only wanted to make her understand. To know their hunger, to feel the deep need that drove them to such terrible acts.

  Opening the pouch that hung from her neck, she pulled out Methar Anduel.

  She no longer feared that the Vyrl would try to take her Stone. They needed her. That much she knew now. And, if Mithorden was to be believed, they couldn’t take it from her without breaking or killing her.

  “Luthiel!” she sang.

  Brilliant silver light erupted from the Stone. Where it passed everything seemed to waver and she found that she no longer felt the water on her skin. There was also a sense of lightening as of a weight being lifted from her. Oddly, the bizarre world of dreams seemed less threatening to her now. Instead it felt comforting to drift here in the water, bathed in Methar Anduel’s strange silvery light.

  Then she noticed that she could no longer sense the Vyrl’s fear and hunger.

  Why would it cut them off?

  She recalled the way it had destroyed the Dimlock and wondered if it had a similar effect on the shadows within the Vyrl’s mind that were now encroaching upon her every thought.

  Drifting in the world of dreams, she thought of Leowin. The Stone was her gift and the gift of her mother—Merrin—if the Vyrl were to be believed. She held the Stone in her hand and stared deep into its light. Whatever gifts the Vyrl gave her; they could never replace this Stone.

  She let herself drift in the world of dreams for an undetermined time. Then, remembering Mithorden’s warnings about lingering, she forced herself to stop singing. It was more difficult than she anticipated. She struggled. But on the third try, she stopped singing and the light in the Stone dimmed to a spark.

  As she swam back to shore, she wondered if she would ever leave the Vale or see Flir Light Hollow again. Was she trapped with the Vyrl by the armies encircling the Vale? Would the elves send her into exile, banishing her forever to the Vale of Mists? The thoughts caused a brief but sharp pain in her chest. She wanted to see her family again. She wanted nothing more than to see Leowin.

  It’s all right Luthiel, she reassured herself. Mithorden will help you.

  When she reached the lakeshore, she toweled herself off, braid
ed her hair, and donned her clothes before walking up the path toward the fortress’ lower levels.

  Melkion and Othalas were waiting for her.

  “What took you so long?” Othalas growled.

  “Long? How long did I take?” she asked.

  “I’d say three hours at least,” Melkion snapped.

  “Three hours?” she said.

  “Yes,” Othalas growled. “We were about to go in to see whether you were all right. What were you doing in there?”

  Luthiel flushed.

  “I had a lot to think about,” she said.

  “We saw lights,” Othalas said.

  “And heard singing,” Melkion said.

  She stared at her feet but didn’t reply.

  They stared at her for a moment longer before turning around.

  “Well, I hope you’re ready,” Melkion said. “The council begins in an hour.”

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  As they exited the caves and ascended into the fortress, the fear and hunger of the Vyrl returned. She shuddered, wondering if it was a sensation that she would carry with her for the rest of her life.

  Cutter’s Shear~

  the Sword of Vlad Valkire

  As she walked, she thought of the shards of Aeowinar.

  They were Vlad Valkire’s.

  Her thoughts lingered.

  When I took them at the Cave of Painted Shadows I promised to give them to the sorcerer.

  “Where’s Mithorden?” she asked them.

  “He’s with the Vyrl now,” Melkion replied. “They’re getting ready for the council.”

  “Would you mind bringing him to my room?” she asked. “I have something to show him before the council.”

  “I don’t know, he seemed busy,” Melkion said.

  “Tell him it’s important,” she replied.

  Melkion looked at her curiously for a moment and then, with a flap of his wings, he was flying down the corridor.

  “What was that about?” Othalas growled.

  “It’s about what we found in the cave,” Luthiel said. “The shards of Aeowinar.”

  Othalas turned his head and looked at her with his great yellow eyes.

  “Your father’s sword?” he growled.

  She shivered when he said it.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  They walked the rest of the way to her room in silence. When they arrived, she sat down on her bed, looking over her things.

  “Othalas, would you mind leaving me alone?” she said.

  The werewolf looked at her with his great yellow eyes. She thought she saw concern in them. It was odd coming from the face of a creature so obviously built for violence.

  Without a word, he left her.

  Numbly, she took out the leather pouch containing the shards of Aeowinar, unfolded it, and arranged them on the bed beside her. As her hands moved, her thoughts drifted.

  She felt uncomfortable talking about Vlad Valkire. And each time she learned more about him, the more difficulty she had thinking about it.

  If he is my father, then I will never know him.

  Even her mother, if what Vaelros said was true, was locked away in the fortress of Arganoth.

  How would I go to visit her with Zalos there?

  She felt the Wyrd Stone about her chest, then lifted the hilt of Aeowinar and stared deep into the clear metal of its blade. Tiny motes of light flickered within. But she had to strain to see them as they seemed to slip from under her gaze.

  His Wyrd Stones, his sword, his ring, even his friends are all around me. I may know them. But I will never know him.

  When she was finished, she sat quietly on the bed, staring down at the broken bits of Cutter’s Shear laid out before her.

  Mithorden came into the room quietly. She ignored him, still staring at her father’s sword.

  “Melkion said it was important that I come.”

  “It was important to me,” she said.

  “Then it is important.”

  She motioned to the shards.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  Mithorden’s eyes fell upon the broken pieces of the blade. He walked over to them as though drawn. She picked up the hilt and handed it to him. He held it close to his eyes.

  “Othalas told me you went to the Cave of Painted Shadows. He never told me about this.”

  “What is it?” she repeated. For some reason, she wanted him to say it. It had been tucked away in her pouch and the events in the cave seemed so unreal, so like a dream to her now, that she craved some affirmation.

  “These are the Shards of Aeowinar. The Cutter’s Shear of Vlad Valkire,” he said. “He made it. It was his masterwork. You didn’t know?”

  “I knew,” she said.

  “Then why did you ask me?”

  “I couldn’t believe it.”

  Silence passed between them for a time.

  “Who was Vlad Valkire?” she asked finally.

  Mithorden looked at her. His clear eyes shone at her from under his dark brows like stars beneath a thunderstorm.

  “Luthiel, what do you mean?” he said gently.

  There was a fierceness within her she couldn’t understand.

  “I’ve always been an orphan,” she said. “But I felt something in the cave. It was like the sound of a summer wind through the trees. Belonging, I think it was. I was going to the Vyrl. I thought I would die and was grateful for the moment. But now, I want to know more.”

  She clutched Mithorden’s wrist.

  “What was he like?”

  Mithorden nodded his head sadly.

  “He was a great man,” he said. “He was an even better friend.”

  She didn’t understand why, but the way he said the word friend with such admiration, struck her. She felt tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “Please, tell me more,” she whispered.

  “Well, he was about my height,” Mithorden said. “But his hair and his eyes were like yours. His face was kind and he had a ready smile. He had a way about himself that I admired. He was brilliant, yes, but ready to laugh at himself when he made mistakes. You may not believe it, but he made mistakes often.”

  “Why?” she choked around her tears.

  “Because he tried to do great things. Anyone can succeed at easy things. But the things Valkire tried were very difficult. He wanted to make things better for people of all races—for he saw the good in them.”

  It was almost too much for her to bear. She cried uncontrollably.

  “But why me? Why all of this?” she motioned to the shards, to her Stone, to the ring on her finger. “How could I help Vyrl? How could I come here and survive!”

  She picked up the hilt of Aeowinar and looked at him over its cross guard.

  “Who was he?” she whispered.

  “I think I understand now,” Mithorden said. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it before. I should have. But the cares of the old often forget the cares of youth.”

  He walked over to her and put his hands on her shoulders, looking deep into her eyes.

  “There can be no doubt, Luthiel. Vlad Valkire was your father.”

  “I can see it in your eyes and in the warmness of your face. I can see it in your grace and in the way you find the good in things.”

  He laughed and his eyes glittered with water.

  “I can see it in the way you try to do the damnedest of things.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Luthiel said stubbornly. But a part of her did and this part of her hurt worse than Vyrl’s bites.

  “I do,” Mithorden said softly. “I said it before and it is true. You are Luthiel Valkire. The Wyrd Stone, the Vyrl, Aeowinar’s shards—they are all a part of who your father was, a part of your heritage.”

  Luthiel took a deep breath. She knew the things Mithorden said were true. She knew now that her stubborn disbelief was not so much rooted in the improbability of these things. It was, instead, rooted in the pain of never being able to know her father, to
never have a normal family.

  A part of her still thought of Glendoras and Winowe as her mother and father. But she’d always felt a barrier between them. It was as if they didn’t know how to treat her. Only Leowin had known.

  She took a deep breath and sighed. Even though it was painful, she realized she still wanted to know everything about them.

  “Who are my relatives?” she asked.

  “Well, Merrin of Waves, queen of the moon that bears her name, is your mother. Your grandmother is the lady Elwin of the sacred dark, spirit of Oesha, mother of Valkyrie and queen of unicorns. Your grandfather is the great lord of the Dark Forest whose name has been hidden. Your father was their only son and you are the only daughter of Merrin and Vlad Valkire.”

  The room seemed to be spinning about her. She was glad that she sat on the bed. She motioned to the broken sword.

  “Othalas told me what happened to Vlad—to my father. How the dark forest’s lord broke Cutter’s Shear. How he—how he killed my father.”

  She choked and tears ran from her eyes. Mithorden embraced her. Finally, she pushed herself away from him and wiped her eyes.

  “I know the council starts soon. I just wanted to ask you now. It’s important for me to know the truth. It may even be important for me to know it for the council.”

  “You’re quite right about that.” Mithorden said calmly.

  “Will you promise to tell me the whole story of my father one day?” she asked.

  Mithorden smiled at her.

  “I do. But I hope to find your mother so that she can help me do it,” he said.

  Luthiel choked back the rest of her tears.

  “I’d like that,” she said.

  “Well, you’d better gather the shards of your sword now,” he said motioning to Cutter’s Shear. “The council is going to start soon and you shouldn’t leave them here unattended.”

  “My sword?” she whispered, looking at the shards.

  “Yes,” he said. “As your father willed it.”

  “He willed it to go to me?”

  “He confided it to me and Merrin the month you were conceived.”

  Then he rose, nodded to her and left.

  “I’ll see you soon,” he said as he departed.