Luthiel's Song: The War of Mists

by Robert Marston Fannéy

  Is this it? I’ve come home only to be killed by my own people?

  Then came a loud cry from the Army’s center. On a small hill were five figures. One was a unicorn with her head raised to the sky.

  “Hold! The order is hold!” she shouted. The unicorn’s command stopped them. She pranced, catching them in first one eye and then the other. A silver horn crowned her head. It spiraled out of a mane that seemed like wave crests bending beneath the moons. Sunlight seemed to fall on her like rain and her feet danced in a way that put the brook to shame.

  Upon her back sat a rider in silver mail. He held a spear with a tip like a star. Upon his shoulder perched a Cat-o-Fae, its ring of blades flashing in the twin light. A third eye, black as polished onyx, split the center of his forehead. Seeing it, Luthiel was reminded of a Vyrl’s eye without the swirling lights.

  To their right a stately lady rode a giant lynx. She was clothed in leather armor and bore a longbow. In her face, there was both wisdom and sadness. Luthiel felt her throat tighten when she realized it was the face of one who kept hope despite hopelessness, love despite lovelessness.

  Beside her stood a towering giant. Thirteen feet tall, it was covered from head to foot in a cloak of dragon scale. Beneath its hood, she saw a face engulfed in flame. Two eyes like white-hot coals blazed out at her. Smoke and fire leaked through cracks and from beneath the cloak. The dragon scale itself looked like cooling magma—black with splotches of red and orange. In its right fist it bore a great hammer licked with blue flame. In its left it held a black sword. Both hands were cased in lobster-like plates.

  Last of all was a figure on a great wolf. The wolf was massive, nearly the size of Othalas. He sat on the great beast’s back as if born there. His face was fair, like that of an Ithildar, and even for an elf it seemed young. Yet in the eyes there was age and enchantment. His armor was golden and set with gleaming crystals that seemed to hold both power and light. On his arm was a great shield bearing the crimson crown wreathed in flame and in a sheath at his side was a graceful longsword. Everything about this man—his movements, his posture, his voice—spoke of power and lordliness.

  They are the Faelords! she thought. Elayethel of the Tyndomiel in her unicorn heart-form. The High Lord Tuorlin of Ithilden with the third eye in his forehead. Belethial of Minonowe—the melancholy lady. Thrar Taurmori of Rimwold—the fiery giant. Last of all Zalos of Ashiroth—who seemed so fair. On Zalos her eyes lingered.

  She felt both anger and awe. Here was the greatest companion of Vlad Valkire and his best friend; a Faelord who’d ruled for thousands of years. Here was the monster who’d imprisoned her mother, forced her to live as an orphan, and set a black curse on Vaelros and his companions. Beside him stood the demon, Thrar Taurmori, who’d first served Gorthar the great himself, then Vyrl, and at last Vlad Valkire who turned him. When their eyes fell on her—and there could be no doubt who they were watching—she felt her legs become weak and she had to lean into Othalas for support. There was a pause. All fae in the great gathering seemed to take them in. Then Zalos raised his hand and motioned to an elf who stood before them.

  “Please, lord Wisdom, continue,” he said. His words were oddly amplified. It took a moment for Luthiel to realize the trees were rustling their leaves together and that it somehow increased the sound. “This new arrival makes your words and blessings even more important.”

  The Wisdom was a tall elf with a pointy nose and severe features. His white hair was pulled back into a braid that emphasized the sharp widow’s peak upon his brow. His cheeks were russet and his thin lips curled into a smile as he saw them. With a show of mock humility, he gave a bow.

  It’s Elag! she realized.

  “By my lord’s favor, I will continue,” the Wisdom replied as he turned to address the army.

  “Companions in arms! We gather to confront the Vyrl!” he shouted to them. “So we ask Ëvanyar, father of all things, to guide and protect us as we move to strike down those that robbed us of our children! Year after year! Age after age! Now the days go down into darkness and the suns are in peril. Vyrl send messengers like crows before the storm to sow confusion. I assure you, what they will tell us is false. The bargain they offer—foul. They will ask for peace, but we will have war the moment we let down our defense. Why let these liars speak?” He drew a finger across his neck. “Silence them, I say. Better we do justice on them now! Let us do it and show the Vyrl our resolve is strong.”

  There was a rumble from the assembled host. At Elag’s words, the Goblins and Gruagach let out cries of assent. Even among the Ithildar and Valemar there were tight knots who cheered Elag on. Others looked at these zealots with discomfort; but she could tell their anger was also aroused by Elag’s words.

  What has Mithorden led us to? They’ll tear us apart!

  “I say let them speak!” The High Lord shouted. His eyes were on Mithorden, who held up an open hand. The High Lord seemed to understand the gesture and he spoke with authority. “You’ve overstepped your bounds, Wisdom. You were here to give comfort and to bless us before battle. Now your words incite violence. Perhaps they are here to surrender.”

  “I warned this council before,” Elag replied with a bow to the High Lord. “A greater terror now rules at the Vyrl’s side. The Blood Witch of prophecy. I tell you as I am Wisdom. I saw her in dreams. Beautiful. Terrible. She is here. Darkness follows her.”

  At the Wisdom’s words, elves shouted at one another, goblins bellowed and animals roared. None seemed in agreement. Some looked on the messenger with fear, others with hope.

  “Who’s this Blood Witch?” she whispered to Melkion.

  “Don’t know. I’m not much for religious studies. Prophecy is especially revolting.”

  The unicorn Elayethel seemed to agree with Melkion. “What is prophecy but a glorified wish for disaster?” she said once the noise died down. “The Blood Witch is among the worst. Oesha’s end brought on by a woman? What rubbish. It’s an offense to the great lady.”

  She drew herself up tall.

  “Ëvanya!” she cried. The word echoed in the valley. Gruagach and Goblins flinched at the sound. A few made signs of warding. Other Fae frowned. “Have so many forgotten the magic of her name? You goblins once loved her. But adoration turned to anger. And you Gruagach abandoned her long ago.” She said this with an angry glance at Zalos. “Now you curse her as wicked—a temptress and beguiler of men. Too many believe the lies. Women are flawed and evil. Sorceresses are foul witches, the servants of Gorthar. Blood Witch? Wisdom, do you know her? Or is she just a phantom of your hate?” She glared at Elag who opened his mouth to reply. Luthiel could see it wasn’t going to be kind, but Elayethel interrupted him before he could. “I say let the messenger talk,” she said in a voice that was like a clarion. “We do not know what he will say.”

  “Yes, let him talk,” said Zalos with a clever smile. He seemed to be enjoying Elayethel’s display. “Although I don’t agree with your words on Prophecy. Those who ignore the future do so at their peril.”

  “Prophecy isn’t about predicting the future,” said the Lady Belethial. “It’s about controlling what people believe about it. But at least in this I agree with you, Zalos. Let the messenger speak.”

  Where at first there was general uproar, now an eerie silence fell over the army. Luthiel felt her skin prickle as thousands of faces turned to her. She felt her head become light and her stomach fluttered. She’d never had so much attention directed at her and it was almost enough to make her sit down. Mithorden intervened, grabbing her by the elbow and marching her to the top of a nearby boulder.

  Now every elf in the world can see me, she thought. The sorcerer gave her a wink.

  “I’m going to say something first,” he whispered. “Then it will be your turn. Are you ready?”

  “I guess I’d better be,” she said.

  He gave a serious nod, then turned toward the elves.

  “My friends,” he began. “Many of you know me well.”
A number of Fae smiled when he spoke; but for each one that did, there were at least two that scowled. “I have just returned from a dangerous journey to the Vale of Mists itself.” At this there was a general uproar; the suspicious Fae scowled even more and the ones who had smiled seemed shocked and surprised. “I did so because I recently had an exceptional visitor. It was a young girl who did something unheard of. She decided to go to the Vale of Mists in the place of a Chosen.”

  The response to this statement was even more extreme. Some jeered, while others nodded with open and solemn smiles. A few raised their voices to shout—“She broke the law! She should be punished!”

  “Now, I agree with you. A law was broken. But maybe it was something that needed breaking long ago. I see some ten thousand Fae gathered together today to break another law. Yet I will not defend her actions other than to say I decided to help her.”

  Grumbling, head-shaking and a few more smiles followed.

  “I gave her an enchantment to help her pass the Widdershae who’d invaded the land around the Vale. After meeting with the Faelords in Ithilden ten days ago, I went to visit her in the Vale of Mists. What I discovered there was extraordinary.”

  More mutters, deadly looks and a few hushed whispers.

  “I won’t say what. That is for our messenger. But it was so important I have risked my life to return here. All ways to and from the Vale were guarded by monsters. Six set out from Ottomnos. Four are here. Vaelros was wounded by a Widdershae and Ecthellien, a Vyrl of the Vale, was killed.”

  Mithorden was greeted with cheers and dark smiles. Even those who seemed to support the sorcerer were happy. Only a few held back from the general revelry. After a minute, the sorcerer raised his hands to quiet them. It took another minute before he was able to speak again.

  “Many of you are not old enough to remember the Vyrl when Valkire turned them. If you were, then you would not cheer. This Vyrl died a hero. On Cauthraus, we were attacked by a dragon. Desire’s own mate: Narhoth. To protect us, Ecthellien challenged her to single combat. He did not return.”

  Luthiel could feel a knot forming in her stomach as Mithorden spoke of Ecthellien. She wondered if she’d ever get used to the empty feeling his loss had left inside her. But it reminded her of the journey’s purpose. Ahmberen and Elshael. They were tied to her now. In some ways it was a deeper bond than family. If they were monsters, then perhaps she was a monster as well. It didn’t matter to her. If Ecthellien’s loss had cemented one thing in her mind, it was that Vyrl deserved a chance to live.

  “Would be better if the dragon got you all!” a goblin bellowed. There were shouts of assent and cries of anger among the other Fae. Too many raised voices in agreement. Too many lifted clenched fists to the sky.

  “Listen to the message,” Mithorden said. “You may not think so after you hear it.”

  “Then let him speak and we shall see!” the same goblin shouted.

  “As you wish,” Mithorden said with a bow. He nodded to Luthiel and gave her a tight grin. She didn’t fault the sorcerer. She knew this was going to be difficult and he had spoken as well as could be expected. Better, in fact, than she thought she could ever speak to such a group.

  What has happened to them? she thought. They’re so full of rage. Why? She glanced suspiciously at Zalos and Elag. It’s been building for years. Those two are just riding it.

  With a deep breath she stepped forward. The veil lay over her face. A thin strip of fabric the only thing between her and ten thousand swords. She stood on top of a boulder, yet she felt is was only a pebble cast in an angry sea. The fae pressed in from all around. Though she searched and searched, she couldn’t find even one friendly face. Her hands trembled. She clasped them together to keep them still.

  “Greetings from the Vale of Mists!” she shouted. It was eerie how the trees seemed to catch her voice and throw it out across the valley. Worse was the roar of jeers that answered her. She resisted the urge to stumble back. Melkion blew an angry cloud of smoke and hissed. The display only incited the Fae.

  “Give us the dragon! Give him to us! We’ll make him pay for all the bad news he’s brought!”

  Finally, after a good minute of shouting, the elves seemed to have spent enough of their rage to quiet down.

  “I bring tidings of joy and an offering of peace.” She spoke the words with caution, doing her best to sound gracious and unassuming. Did I say it well? she worried. Does it even matter?

  There were some more cries and angry shouts from the crowd. But most sat still with blank faces or looked at her suspiciously. Among the Faelords, the unicorn Elayethel, the Lady Belethial, and the High Lord Tuorlin seemed to be giving relieved yet cautious smiles. Zalos’ face seemed one of open consideration but his eyebrows were raised in surprise.

  Probably plotting even now, she thought to herself with grim satisfaction. I’ve put you in a bit of a spot, haven’t I, Zalos? Bet you never thought I would return to give the Vyrl’s offer.

  Then her eyes fell on Thrar Taurmori, towering over the army. She could see his face—eyes white hot and awful. Burning bright at her. She wished for Gormtoth strong and tall beside her. But even his great presence was no match to the lord of fire demons. The distance between them seemed little protection. He was terrible, tall, dangerous. She forced herself to look away.

  “A Chosen like no other has come to the Vale,” she continued. “Luthiel of Flir Light Hollow. The adopted Valshae. She lived among you for years and you did not know her. She must not have seemed like much for she was only an orphan. Yet there was something special about her. Her blood was enough to sate even Vyrl’s hunger.”

  Now there was complete silence except for the voice of one small Red Cap who asked, “After so many years? How can it be true?”

  “I don’t know,” Luthiel replied. “It is as strange to me as it is to you. Yet believe me when I say the Vyrl were restored.”

  Now one of them is dead.

  “They have agreed to surrender and pay homage to all families who lost loved ones. To each disfigured by Mist. They only ask they be allowed to remain in the Vale and to have the girl, Luthiel, return once each year to feed them—keeping hunger and madness at bay. As a sign, they granted her equal lordship over the Vale. She would be the first Faelord to rule there in nearly three thousand years. The first since Vlad Valkire.”

  Now there was murmuring among the Fae. Some seemed suspicious; others shocked, and a few were relieved. Luthiel felt a little relieved as well.

  Tuorlin raised his spear and shouted out in a clear voice. “By what right does Luthiel claim rulership of the Vale? To be the first Faelord there since Vlad Valkire?”

  “Luthiel is no Valshae. She is the daughter of Vlad Valkire,” she said it softly and as she did a breeze whispered around her. The trees picked up her words, carrying them to every corner of the fae army. If there was silence before, now the only thing she could hear was her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

  I might really do it, she hoped. But she dare not believe it was over. In thousands of faces she saw doubt. The daughter of a faerie tale returns? How convincing could I be? Widdershae still surrounded the Vale. She wasn’t certain how to talk about them. But she stood firm and waited for the question she knew would come. It was Zalos who finally raised his voice.

  “The daughter of Vlad Valkire has returned?” His voice held a hint of mocking. “How can we know it is true? And what of the gestures of war the Vyrl have already made? Just two nights ago, Widdershae came and attacked us. They kidnapped a number of elves. Some were soldiers. But the rest were camp followers who never saw battle.”

  Luthiel looked down at Zalos. I bet he knows more than he lets on, she thought. For a moment, her nightmare came rushing back to her and she wondered again about The Dreaming. The dragon was there and she became real enough. His six captains were there too. They would have told him. She was careful with her words, fearing any misstep might lead to disaster.

  “Only the blood of Vl
ad Valkire can restore Vyrl. Do not doubt that before Luthiel came they would have happily fought and killed you. Now they ask for peace. What better proof can I give? As for Widdershae—they are invaders of both Vale and Faelands. Vyrl are gathering an army to fight them and will not rest until the spiders are driven off. If you are wise and accept our offer, you will gain an ally against them. If you refuse, you must move through the spider’s webs to fight the Vyrl. Can you make it? Or will they ensnare you all?”

  It was the demon and not Zalos who answered her. It took her by surprise and the great sound of his voice—like a bonfire roaring in the wood—was enough to make her skip a half step back.

  “What is the wisest course? Listen to the enemy that has eaten our children?” She could almost feel the heat radiating from the demon. But even worse was the spell of rage and anger it seemed to cast over the Faerie host. Where many had seemed to consider her a moment ago, now hands leapt to weapons and angry faces turned toward her. “I say strike now as the Vyrl beg for mercy,” said the demon lord. “If we take this messenger, his wolf and his dragon, they will not know what we plan.”

  At this, the unicorn leapt onto a nearby bolder and let out a great cry. The sound was unlike the neighing of any horse. It was more like the sound of a trumpet that is followed by the clear ringing of bells. “My lord has confused cunning with wisdom, I think. It is never wise to have enemies where one could have friends, or to face two foes when you could turn one to your side.”

  The unicorn’s words seemed to make the Fae pause. They turned on one another. There were shouts and even a few blows. Weapons flashed. A group of wolfriders formed to rush up at Luthiel. No sooner did this happen than a motley group of Fae led by the Red Cap who had spoken earlier, formed in front of Luthiel.

  “For the lady!” he cried. In that moment, Luthiel’s heart went out to him and she felt hope. There are some who were inspired by what I have done. They’d even protect a hated messenger of Vyrl. But the thought was short lived. Goblins and Gruagach alike were forming behind the wolfriders. Even a few Blade Dancers joined them. A Cat-o-Fae rushed at her. She saw its spinning blades catch the light only a moment before it plunged to her. It was far too fast for her to move in time. There was a ringing of metal on metal and a flash in the sunslight. Without her seeing it, Vanye’s Cat-o-Fae had rushed up from behind and met the other Cat-o-Fae mid flight, deflecting it over her head. Again and again, the Cat-o-Fae collided in the air like two great metal birds. Finally, as if by unspoken agreement, each returned to its Blade Dancer.