Luthiel's Song: The War of Mists

by Robert Marston Fannéy

  At first it seemed as if she were unwinding some invisible strand of thread. Then she stooped down and slashed one of the web bundles. From it rose a curl of mist. It grew and changed, making a web pattern. The mist-web rose and as it did, it drew in more mist—expanding beneath the prisoners who looked down on it, fear in their eyes. Then came lights. They shot from the bundle, rushing for open darkness. Saurlolth was too fast. As they fled, her legs worked and, one by one, she plucked them, threading each into her mist web.

  Silence fell over the spiders as Saurlolth seemed to tense. Then she struck the lights. With each jab came a burst of glowing goo. Soon, the whole web dripped with it. Some of the elves moaned and lifted their hands to shield their eyes. In the glow, Luthiel could see the poison affected them less. A few even struggled—kicking, or swinging arms in desperation.

  With a final push, Saurlolth gathered the web and shoved it up toward the elves. The web grew as it rose, then folded over them, covering them all. Moans turned into cries of alarm. For a moment, the light lingered. Then it faded and all was dark.

  Luthiel couldn’t see them. But she could hear noises. Shrieks changed. Growing thin. Turning to alarming rattles. No elf she knew could make such sounds. She jumped when she heard sharper noises coming from their throats—wet popping and hissing. Slowly, the darkness rolled back. The webs seemed drawn up inside them. Bodies twisted and grew, bursting clothes, ripping arms and legs end to end like paper shreds.

  Something, she thought it was blood, fell off of them. Horrible snapping sounds—organs breaking and reforming, joints dislocating and relocating—filled the warren. It was as if some awful invisible hand had taken hold of them and molded their flesh as a child might mold clay. Black gloss appeared in splotches on the skin, then grew to cover them. New eyes opened in their heads. The arms split, thinned and moved backward. Legs came forward. The abdomen bulged and elongated.

  They’ve become spiders.

  As Luthiel watched in horror, Saurlolth reared up and cut them down. No sooner did the new-made spiders hit ground than the others were on them. They swarmed over them, striking out with their forelimbs, scoring shells with fangs, torturing them into compliance. After about a minute of violence, the Widdershae who were once elves rose on beaten legs. They were horribly battered—bodies cut in a hundred places. A few were missing eyes. A tall Widdershae reared before them and snapped its forelegs like whips. The new Widdershae huddled together. But the large spider kept snapping its legs as it moved forward, driving them on. They scurried off into the shadows.

  Luthiel let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

  Mithorden turned to her. “We must go back now,” he said.

  Before Luthiel could even nod her reply, Othalas let out a fierce growl. There was a crash and when she turned around she saw the werewolf wrapped up in the legs of a Widdershae. The spider’s teeth flashed. But Othalas rolled underneath the terror, clamping his great jaws over its head.

  A shriek and then a crunching sound. Black fluid and spider eyes fell to the ground.

  The spiders froze at the sounds. The queen turned, green eyes gleaming at them, then clapped her forelimbs together.

  “Klingaklingkling!!!”

  A moment later, a hundred Widdershae were scrambling toward them. But the queen sat still—eyes glaring in the darkness.

  Though it seemed to Luthiel that the queen could see them, the other spiders were having trouble.

  “Vvrrerrre itch itttt?” One rasped.

  Luthiel drew her bow and let fly. The arrow spun wide, lodging in the shadows, and the spider, seeing her for the first time, scrambled toward her.

  Remember what Hueron taught you! she thought desperately to herself.

  She fumbled with her arrows as it drew close. Finally, her hand touched one lifting from her quiver and she snatched it. She missed the bowstring once, twice. The arrow rattled against the bow. In a surge of rage and fear, she willed her hand to move. At last, the arrow slid into place. She could see the spider—very near now. Pouncing from only thirty feet away. The fear of a moment before disappeared and a strange sense of calm came over her as she recalled her uncle’s words.

  “Breathe in steady as you draw in one motion,

  Eye to arrow tip,

  Arrow tip to target,

  Feather to lips—

  Kiss the feather as she flies.”

  She sighted down the shaft and into the spider’s green eyes. Its movements seemed to slow as she aimed, drew, released. Her bowstring thrummed. The arrow flew. She could see the triangle pattern of its feathers glide away from her and toward the spider. Its path was smooth, its flight graceful. The arrow hung in the air for a moment between her and the spider. Then it seemed to leap away from her, plunging deep into the spider’s head.

  With a shriek, it crashed to the ground. The momentum carried it forward and she had to scramble away. Its legs twitched, wrapping around its body. Then it was still.

  The death only seemed to anger the others. They shrieked and twittered and ran faster.

  “We must go back!” Mithorden cried. He grabbed her, pulling her headlong through the hole.

  Othalas growled in answer and, spinning around, bound back down the path Luthiel had cut through the shadows.

  Mithorden pushed Luthiel ahead of him and they scrambled over the still twitching body of the dead Widdershae. A great stench rose up from inside the creature and by the time Luthiel managed to scramble across it she was gagging and covered in its blood.

  “Run!” Mithorden cried. “Back to the open wood!”

  Luthiel spun, running as fast as she could to catch up with Vaelros who was jogging, sword in hand, behind Ecthellien. The Vyrl raised his horn, letting out a loud peal. After another few strides he sounded the horn again. Its echoes rang out and, far away, she thought she heard an answer.

  She ran hard, glancing over her shoulder to make certain Mithorden was still behind her. Because of the magic, she could only see his sword flashing around and the indistinct blur of his movements.

  The spiders were close behind and they made it no further than the end of the tunnel before another three had caught them. One was scrambling toward Mithorden when Luthiel let an arrow fly.

  “Cauth!” Mithorden cried, throwing his hand high. And no sooner had the arrow left her bow than it burst into brilliant light. For an instant she was blinded and she stumbled backward, shielding her eyes. But through her fingers she could see the arrow as it flew from her. It gleamed like a star and from it hot sparks fell. The heat was so great that the feathers had already burst into flame and the arrow left a trail of blue smoke along the path of its flight. Then it struck among the spider’s legs. The head showered sparks and smoked for an instant before flaring as the monster caught flame. With a scream it lurched into the spider behind it. Their bodies merged, legs flailing, mad teeth flashing. Over and over they rolled; one struggled to disengage from the other who, in its fear, only clung tighter. Soon they were both covered in bright sparks and burning. They fled, but it only fanned the flames. The third spider hung back, lurking behind the webs. They could see its green eyes watching them.

  They turned to run again. Luthiel sprinted, breathing heavy and then had to scramble as she ran headlong into Vaelros.

  “It’s the werewolf! He’s stuck!” he cried.

  Luthiel rushed forward to find Othalas bound up in a mass of spider webs.

  “They’re new!” he growled. “Didn’t see them soon enough.”

  Sliding Weiryendel from her belt, she made hasty work of the webs. Her hands trembled, and she kept glancing over her shoulder. But within a few moments, she was finished and the great wolf bounded free.

  “Be more careful!” she scolded.

  “Harrumph! You be more careful,” He panted in between great strides. “We might be past them—if it weren’t for your temper!”

  It stung but Luthiel was too afraid of the spiders to be cowed.

  “Might
be!? Might be that we’d have been found as we tried. She saw us!”

  Othalas growled again, but didn’t reply.

  Afraid that someone might stumble into a web, she ran with Weiryendel in her hand and, wherever she could, she cut trapped creatures free. Many simply fell to the ground with wet plopping sounds. Some, though, possessed enough life to stagger for freedom. Her heart sang when she saw their eyes fill with hope. Some may live now, she thought. But her thoughts always returned to the elves.

  Many more times, Luthiel had to cut herself or her companions from the shadow webs. Each time the spiders came closer. She could hear them scrambling behind and around them.

  Othalas slowed down to let her catch up.

  “Get on,” he snapped.

  She sheathed her sword and was putting her hands on his flank when she noticed the bite marks. They were side by side pits in his neck. Black stuff seeped from them and his teeth were already caked with red.

  “You’re hurt,” she said.

  “It’s nothing,” he growled. “Now get on.”

  She grabbed fistfuls of his hair, pulling herself up. They were starting to get clear of the webs. But they still had to move with care. All around, Luthiel could see the green eyes of spiders. She readied an arrow but held onto it, waiting for a clear shot.

  Ecthellien ran beside her, blowing his horn. The answering peals were much closer now and flocks of crows circled above them. In the distance, Luthiel could see flickering lights. It reminded her of sunlight reflecting off of water. But these lights were above and coming closer.

  Strange, she thought, wondering what they were.

  Vaelros and Mithorden ran behind. Both held naked swords in their hands. Occasionally, one or the other would glance nervously into the shadows.

  Finally, they came to a clearing. The trees of the Vale rose before them. Its mists swirled up in columns and through the wood she could see Miruvoir sparkling. Though some Shadow Webs remained, they were thin and sunslight filled the glade. The chill had lessened and a fresh wind blew about her. She breathed deep. For a moment, Luthiel thought they’d escaped.

  Then the spiders made their attack. Scrambling up through the trees or lunging across the earth in great bounds, the spiders rushed toward them. Three pounced upon Vaelros from the darkness. One wrapped a shadow around his legs. A second beat him to the ground with its forelegs. A third rushed in with dark fangs flashing. Together they dragged Vaelros back toward the webs.

  Not an instant later, Mithorden was there, his sword gleaming in the light of Oerin’s Eye. It leapt through the air in a great arc. There was a shriek. One of the great spider’s heads rolled free.

  From beneath the spiders a cry emerged.

  “Luthiel! Luthiel!”

  It was Vaelros and he sprang to his feet with such ferocity that the spiders who held him stumbled back. In one hand, he held his Wyrd Stone which flickered with orange fire. A tongue of it shot out, setting the shadow at his legs aflame. At the same time, his black sword snaked through the air. A second spider crumpled, two legs in ruin. The third scrambled away into the shadows.

  But now the danger had grown. For no sooner was the one group of spiders defeated than a second and much larger one rushed upon them. In a glance, Luthiel saw ten leaders, but behind them and everywhere in the woods, she could see their black shapes.

  Frantic, she drew her bow, took a shot, missed. In a rush, she let fly again and struck one through the gut. It stumbled and fell to the ground, then kept dragging itself toward her on three working legs. The spider behind it leapt over its struggling body and lunged for Luthiel. Othalas caught the beast in his mouth. There was a crunching sound and the great wolf shook the spider like a toy before tossing it to the ground where it crumpled and lay still. But another had seen Luthiel and came at her. She saw it too late and held an arrow before her in a vain attempt to ward it off. It grasped a shadow between its legs and she knew it would snatch her up if it could.

  Ecthellien leapt between her and the spider. Sword held high, in both hands, he brought it down on the spider with enough force to knock the beast to its belly. Its shell collapsed like an egg under a boot and a rush of black liquid spilled from its mouth.

  They turned and formed themselves into a rough crescent. Luthiel and Othalas stood at its center with Mithorden and Vaelros to their left and Ecthellien to their right. Melkion had taken flight and spat fire at any who came near. Already two lay on the ground, their heads burning.

  The spiders gathered into two large mobs. One was rushing them en masse as the other moved behind them. Luthiel drew her arrow.

  Before she could aim, Mithorden let out a great bellow. Soris! he cried. There was a blinding flash of light and a shower of sparks seemed to rain down from Oerin’s Eye and onto the spiders. They screamed as the sparks alighted upon them, burning holes into their shells or lighting fire to their legs. Great billows of smoke and a terrible reek rose from the burning creatures. The spiders fell to the ground, pulled legs into bodies and grew still. The fume stung Luthiel’s eyes; the stench made her choke.

  The rest, cowed for the moment by the ferocity of their quarry, melted back into the woods. They were still near enough for Luthiel to hear their pained shrieks and furious chittering.

  Mithorden grabbed Vaelros by the elbow.

  “Hurry!” he cried. “They’ll soon return!”

  Vaelros was quick to cover his shoulder with his cloak but Luthiel could see, in places, where his armor had broken. Blood and a black fluid oozed out of the holes.

  “You’re bitten!” Luthiel cried.

  “Nothing to do about it now,” he said through clenched teeth. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He drew a pained breath and started jogging toward the open forest. The shadow at his legs snapped in half as it burned.

  Ecthellien ran up beside him and grabbed his arm to help him move faster.

  They rushed down a long slope and into open forest. The webs faded behind them. Still Luthiel thought she could see black shapes creeping along the ground or inching up the trunks of trees. Except for these, most hung back, lurking among the shadows. An angry clamor rose from the darkness. From the sound Luthiel guessed that spiders were gathering for another attack and in far greater numbers than before.

  A horn rang out nearby and Ecthellien answered with a peal of his own.

  Mounted on their terrible horses, Elshael and Ahmberen broke through the woodline. Beside them loped Gormtoth. As he ran, his feet impacted the earth, leaving a trail of smoking holes behind him.

  A column of grendilo followed. They bore spears or greatswords. Luthiel was astonished by how rapidly they could move on one leg. With their narrow whip bodies covered in strange, spiked armor, they looked fierce, flowing over the land like an army of thorns.

  Among the grendilo strode giants. On their hips they carried barrels of burning pitch and in each hand was a spear with a flaming head.

  The light in the sky grew. It flickered vaguely through the mists, turning them yellow and orange. She began to make out forms like a thousand candle flames flying low over the treetops.

  They were birds! Birds with flames for wings! Each bird was large—about the size of an eagle. Their bodies were covered in green shaded scales the shape and size of feathers. From their shoulders erupted membranous wings that blazed with fire. They had noble faces and hooked black beaks. The only true feathers were the azure crests at their heads.

  They rushed low over the wood casting wild light and dancing shadow.

  At first sight of the fiery birds, a great shrieking rose up from the spiders. Then, all grew silent. They were gone—melting back into the safety of their shadow webs.

  Luthiel felt a wave of relief rush over her.

  “It’s going to be all right now,” she whispered to Othalas, slapping him on the neck.

  Othalas growled his reply.

  She glanced at his wound, but did what she could to hide her concern.

  The werewolf boun
ded toward the Vyrl.

  “You were almost too late,” he growled.

  “We came as soon as we could,” Elshael said, having to look twice to see through the spell. “We’d moved as far along your path as we dared and when we heard Ecthellien’s horn, we rushed in toward the shadows.”

  “You’re very fortunate,” Ahmberen said.

  Luthiel’s face flushed with shame and anger. “It was my decision. I was wrong,” she said.

  Mithorden looked up at her with fierce eyes. “Now the only way is Cauthraus.”

  Luthiel nodded. But as she did, a deep and unreasoning fear took hold of her. She wanted to say something but her mouth didn’t seem to work.

  “If we are to have any hope of making the journey, we must leave at once,” Mithorden said. He turned to the werewolf. “Can you carry three of us?”

  “This girl only counts for half.”

  “Then you should have no trouble managing with Ecthellien and me too.”

  Othalas looked at the sorcerer and, for a moment, Luthiel thought she saw doubt in those great yellow eyes. Her mouth moved but nothing came out. There must be some other way. But there wasn’t and she found herself faced with a terrible reality.

  I’m going to Cauthraus. In her mind, she could see its burning face like a vast red eye. A tremor of fear ran through her and she felt her skin grow hot despite the day’s pleasant coolness. Her breathing quickened, but she couldn’t seem to get enough air. Why am I so afraid?

  “I’ll manage,” Othalas growled.

  “I’m coming,” Vaelros said through clenched teeth. He was leaning against a tree and it seemed to take nearly all of his effort to stand.

  Luthiel looked at him with concern. He’d seemed strong only moments before.

  “Vaelros, you’re hurt,” she said. “The poison—”

  “I’m fine! The potion!” he snapped.

  “It may save your life, but you must get to bed immediately,” Elshael said. “Widder poison is deadly.”