Luthiel's Song: The War of Mists

by Robert Marston Fannéy

  “Then I will fight with you,” Zalos said. “Yet I fear this is a ruse the Vale’s new power has cast over us.”

  Elag’s face became grave. “Lord, it is also my fear the elves will come to regret this choice. The Wyrd about the Vale has been disturbed. I can sense the new power reaching out. Was it not said she would seem fair?”

  Mithorden and Tuorlin met eyes.

  “Now is not the time to bandy superstition,” the sorcerer said.

  “We must strike the spiders fast,” Tuorlin said, turning to Luthiel. “The Vyrl will give us aid?”

  “They will,” Luthiel said with a nod.

  “You must send word. It is known to us they communicate using birds. Great talking crows. They should be sent for immediately so we can coordinate an attack. If the spiders don’t expect us to act together, then we may catch them unawares.”

  As Tuorlin spoke, Luthiel felt a grim smile creep over her face. After seeing their treatment of elves—as slaves and as food—she’d found herself wanting to kill the spiders. There was a battle lust inside of her now. She reveled in rage and it left her hollow. I want to kill them and I don’t regret it.

  She turned to Melkion. “Will you fly to them?” she asked.

  Melkion also seemed to be infected with a killing lust. “Gladly,” he replied. “What shall I tell them?”

  “Tell them to bring their main force to bear against the spiders at first light tomorrow,” Tuorlin said. “At the same time, we will strike them from the cliffs. It will take a day for us to move and prepare. But no more. Already, our scouts have burned paths through the shadow webs and work to keep the ways open for us. If the Vyrl can drive the spiders to the Rim Wall, we can rain fire and death down upon them from above. A force of cavalry, knights and wolf riders, will sortie around the spiders and into the Vale to join with the Vyrl. This combined force should be enough to drive the spiders into our trap—shadow webs or no.”

  If Zalos seemed troubled by this plan, his face didn’t show it. Luthiel expected more argument but was pleasantly surprised when he offered none. He just nodded and gave the necessary orders to his Lieutenants. The Urkharim would journey south along with a force of Tyndomiel in animal form and the knights of Ithilden riding Faenmare. Zalos himself would be the leader of this sortie. The rest would stay with the main force which would consist chiefly of archers, the slower, sturdier animals, infantry and ballistae. The Vyrl would also be asked to contribute Firewing and any other flying beasts able to attack the Widdershae from above.

  When all plans were made, Melkion spread his rainbow wings and lifted himself into the sky.

  Be careful! Luthiel thought to him as he slowly faded into the blue.

  To War

  Like waves gather ahead of a storm, the army formed. Sword and spear came together before columns of cavalry backed by archers. Everywhere she looked, sunlight glistened on helm, arrowhead, lance, and sword.

  Zalos rode out to his wolfriders. They gathered beneath Ashiroth’s banner. A ring of gold with crystal thorns in fire. Luthiel wondered if Zalos wore the awful thing even now.

  How can he even think? Yet there he sits—authority itself.

  Coming to the standard, he took it in hand and thrust it high. A breeze caught the cloth.

  “Wolfriders!” Zalos cried out. The riders raised their closed fists and answered with a cheer. The Faelord paused, meeting the eyes of each of his captains. An aisle parted in the group and Luthiel’s breath caught as she saw the six captains approach Zalos, then surround him in a protective ring. A few cast looks her way, cold eyes making numb assessment of her and Othalas. One gathered up the banner staff. In a moment, the colors were gone and her eyes were drawn to the dulled armor, to the bits of cloth tied to weapon and harness.

  “To the Vale!” Zalos commanded. Then, they drifted up the hill. Like a cloud, they passed into the trees and melted out of sight.

  “Just like that,” she whispered to Othalas, making a snap with her fingers.

  “Ashiroth’s pride,” Othalas replied. “Silent and deadly is the wolfriders’ attack. Take care where you sleep if you want to keep your neck.”

  “I’m not sleeping more than arms length away from you.”

  Othalas gave a low rumble.

  Beside her, Tuorlin shouted orders and knights on Faenmare rode up to join him. Among them were Blade Dancers. Cat-o-Fae shifted, spun or flexed their blades. A few drifted above them—flitting through the air like metallic birds. Thrar Taurmori remained so close she could smell the burning and Elag lurked nearby. Trying not to stare, she kept her eyes ahead. All around, horns blew and the army moved. But she stood still, rooted by a demon’s glare. Remembering Gormtoth, she wondered how well Mithorden’s spells kept her secret.

  Troubled, Luthiel looked away.

  “I’d rather be in a Widdershae den than to have them know where I’m sleeping.” She nodded toward Elag and Taurmori.

  Othalas nudged her.

  “Get on,” he growled. “Best stay with me now.”

  Glad to be near the big wolf, she sprang to his back and found herself surprised and somewhat pleased to be looking down upon the Faelords and their army. What she saw made her breath catch. Where before there was bickering, now an eerie silence lay over them. She could see fear in their faces. They’d heard the old tales since childhood. For all knew of the eastern mountains’ danger. The terror that consumed the Delvendrim. An army sent to face it disappeared. All but one—driven mad by the fear.

  “May I say something to them?” she asked the High Lord.

  “What will you tell them?” Tuorlin’s third eye was like an oval of night in his forehead—absorbing everything, revealing nothing.

  At least I need not hide from everyone.

  “Something to give them heart,” she replied.

  “You may. But be brief and have a care what you say. Many still think you’re the enemy.”

  With a nod, she turned Othalas to face the army.

  “Fae of Oesha!”

  Picked up by the trees, her call rang out. In a moment, all eyes were on her. There was something in the sunslight. It splashed like a rain of fire-drops and graced her brow with a shining ring. In that instant, they saw a fierce and heavenly warrior. One recalled from tales of Oesha’s making and the great wars fought in the void. Wyrd shining through her, the enchantment touched them all. Though she didn’t know she used it.

  Mithorden chuckled to himself. “Daughter of Valkire, indeed,” he said softly.

  Silence carried through the wood and seemed far louder than her shout. The whole place was listening. Even the trees held their breath.

  “I did not just come to give a Vyrl’s message. I also came to bring news of hope!”

  She paused and the silence stretched on again but this time it was pierced by a proud voice. A Tyndomiel in the shape of a bear lifted his growl in answer.

  “When has hope ever come from beyond the Mounds of Losing?”

  “When Vlad Valkire ruled,” she replied, “beyond the Mounds lay the only hope. Or do you not remember?”

  She paused again and this time all were silent.

  “You do not face this danger alone or without aid. The Vyrl you once feared have become your friends. As proof, I will ride beside you on great Othalas! But I am not your only new ally. A force from the mighty fortress Ottomnos is coming to help you. We of the Vale are strong! We of the Vale are with you!”

  With her last words, Othalas bounded in one spring to the top of a great boulder. His claws scored the stone as he lifted his head high and let out a great howl. The trees echoed his call. In answer, the fae gave cry. The sound rose and became so loud that beasts for miles around stopped to listen. Gone was the apprehension of a few minutes before, gone the fear. They were ready. Othalas sensed it too. The fae were going to war.

  “Now you’ve got them raring for it,” The great wolf growled.

  “I hope I did the right thing,” she said grimly.

  �
�We’ll soon find out.”

  With a number of whispered commands and hand signals, the elves began their march.

  Since the lands’ forming, fae honored their dead at the Mounds of Losing. Later it became the point of no return for Chosen. As they entered the mounds, many touched their foreheads out of respect or bowed, whispering prayers for their lost. Even in normal times it was an eerie place. The land rolled and jutted, seeming to take on strange and elusive shapes. Beyond, the Vale of Mists was crowned in ever-shifting cloud. Shadows danced over rolling hills, taking on shapes that tricked the eye. Further in, they began to see threads of darkness bending at impossible angles against the dual light. But as the webs grew thick about them, their path remained clear—the work of goblin scouts and their trained salamander.

  The elves traveled in loose formation. In front, lines of swordsmen were backed by spear. Behind were great ballistae among knots of the small but vicious Red Cap. These fae wore studded leather coats but bore no weapons. Their teeth were enough—able to smash a sword or crack the thickest armor. In a lane through the middle were what remained of the riders. They formed in a wedge with five Blade Dancers bearing Cat-o-Fae and longspears at the point. She rode along with Vanye, three more Blade Dancers, and the Faelords at the wedge’s center. Archers looked down from the trees and the air was filled with Tyndomiel in hawk and eagle form. In their talons, they each bore a javelin and among them flew pixies with tiny crystal wands.

  Luthiel watched the army in wonder. She never thought the Faelands could gather so much power in one place. Riding at their center was heady. For the first time since she left Ottomnos, she felt secure.

  “Impressive isn’t it?” Mithorden said to her. The elves had given him a great gray Faenmare to ride, but he still had to look up at Luthiel. “Don’t be fooled, armies far greater than this have come to nothing in a matter of moments.”

  Luthiel blanched.

  For a time, they rode on in silence. They were in a region that gradually rose before meeting the Rim Wall. Though spider webs surrounded them, they still seemed sparse and haphazard. The spiders who made these webs must have fled or hidden at the army’s approach. For Luthiel could see no sign of them. But the creatures trapped—some still alive, some dead and sucked dry—bore gruesome testimony to the danger closing in about them.

  Overhead, there was a chirping and commotion among the hawks and pixies. A few archers stopped to look skyward. In the distance, what seemed like a small cloud appeared. Slowly, it grew until Luthiel realized it was a flock of birds. They were tiny mu-sparrow with azure and golden feathers. They flew high, well away from any shadow web, then coming abreast of the army, dove down upon them. As they approached she could hear excited chirping. They paused above the army as though looking for something then shot down again, rushing directly toward Luthiel. In an instant, the flock was upon her. It shot overhead, banked left, then turned to plunge again. On the second pass, the flock swirled around her and Luthiel had the odd sensation that she sat in the center of a whirlpool as the birds swirled and dipped. The excited chirping grew even louder and a few whizzed by so close she could reach out and touch them. After only moments, the flock lifted off and was flying away—back toward where the land was free of shadow webs.

  Luthiel felt breathless.

  “Why did they come? Why so many?”

  Othalas gave out a gravelly chuckle. “Tuorlin isn’t the only one gifted with special sight. Birds can see the very forces of Oesha. The force that binds the moons to her, the force that pulls a lodestone north, even rivers of Wyrd are visible to birds in colors more vivid than we could imagine.”

  “So what does that have to do with what happened?”

  “They came to see you.” The werewolf replied in a much softer voice.

  She leaned forward and bent over his ear before whispering “they can see me?”

  Othalas nodded. “Oh yes, probably better than anyone save Tuorlin.”

  “But why would they want to?”

  “Rumor spreads among beasts and birds fast. It’s seldom they care about elves, but they do take an interest from time to time. It definitely seems they have in you.”

  Leowin, who’d been riding a Faenmare beside Mithorden and asking him an endless battery of questions suddenly turned toward them.

  “Why would so many birds come? Why would they be so interested in you?” Leowin’s question seemed to be echoed in the eyes of all who surrounded her. Indeed, the entire army had turned to look. It seemed to pause. But when Luthiel was not forthcoming with any answers, it returned to the march and the battle ahead.

  Othalas tilted his head and let out a low growl. “Keep your nose to yourself. Mithorden may humor you but I have a temper. If you become too annoying I may eat you and solve two problems in one—your constant twitter and the rumbling in my belly.”

  “If there’s a secret here,” Leowin said, “I’ll find it out.”

  “Good at getting into trouble, I’d imagine,” Mithorden said with a smile and a twinkle in his eye.

  This only seemed to egg Leowin on. “You don’t know how much trouble I can be. You’re not telling me everything about my sister. Seems she’s done something extraordinary. But she’s gotten herself in even deeper trouble. She broke a terrible law.” Leowin lowered her voice and shot a glance at the Faelords who rode less than twenty feet away. “Tuorlin, Elayethel, and Belethial are fair. But law is law. There’s always consequences.”

  Luthiel couldn’t resist. “As I recall, you’re the reason she journeyed to the Vale in the first place.”

  Leowin hung her head. “I know,” she said. “I kept saying there was something extraordinary about her. I just didn’t expect her to prove me right by going to the Vale of Mists. Then getting the Vyrl to ask for peace! This will upset a lot of powerful fae who like hating Vyrl. The trouble’s just started and I need to find Luthiel before it gets even worse. You should have heard all his talk about Witches!” She nodded her head to Elag who’d ridden a little ways off but could probably still make out bits of the conversation. “Wisdom?” Leowin whispered. “They mistitled him. Should’ve made it Deceit.”

  “So you’re not angry with Luthiel?” she asked.

  Leowin looked up at her.

  “Why don’t you come down and ride with me for a bit so we can chat about it, Valas?” There was that twinkle again. She said the words plain and open but the invitation for more was in her eyes. Luthiel could feel her cheeks becoming hot. It was infuriating! Sometimes Leowin could be such a fool. Luthiel stole a glance at Vanye. His face was as impassive as ever. But, now and again, his eyes stole over to Leowin. He does care for her. But he keeps it under tight guard.

  “He’s staying put,” Othalas replied. “Things could get dangerous fast and battles have too many accidents.”

  Leowin shrugged her shoulders, then gave an even bigger grin. “Maybe after, then?”

  Luthiel nodded. “Maybe after,” she said evenly. What Othalas said struck her and she glanced anxiously at Thrar Taurmori who was striding lazily beside them. His pace was slow and his body language spoke of boredom and contempt. Watching him made her feel like she was riding beside an executioner. It was more than just the heat coming from him that made her sweat.

  Sparring

  They continued to travel throughout the morning and into the afternoon. It was nearing Soelee set when they finally drew to a halt. They were on the edge of much denser webs and not far beyond lay the Vale itself. Some parts of the army had encountered spiders but any violence was limited to small skirmishes. True to the fae, the army had moved to mask its size, using the land between it and the spiders as a screen. The only difficulty was with the goblins. A constant clamor rose from their ranks and they seemed intent on breaking everything they passed. Bits of leftover meals and other trash marked their passing. A group of pixies had to be sent behind them to pick up. The goblins only laughed when they saw this.

  “Let the spiders come!” they would sa
y, and some were even so bold as to bang weapons against shields.

  Despite her hard living over the past few weeks—which was slowly encasing her body in lean but nearly invisible muscle—she felt tired and sore after the long march. Othalas’ size made it difficult for her to hold on with her legs. The result was an almost constant strain on her whole body. I’d rather run than ride, she thought.

  The Faelords had made camp beneath a great tree which was mostly free of shadow webs. Despite the scouts’ hard work and that of the pixies—who used their wands to shoot burning sparks at the shadow webs—many webs remained, and inevitably someone got caught. The army was already busy burning the odd bear or goblin out of the webs. But for every one set free, it seemed that at least one more stumbled into another snare. Soon the camp was filled with muffled shouts and shuffling. Luthiel wondered if moving an army in after the spiders was such a good idea.

  She didn’t have long to think, though, and she’d barely had a chance to let her muscles unwind before Vanye came to where she was sitting against a tree and tossed something down to her. A padded practice sword and a bag bulging with food plopped at her feet. Upon seeing the food, her mouth immediately began to water.

  “That’s for after,” Vanye said as she grabbed the bag. His voice was even but his eyes were stern. He motioned to the practice sword. “For some reason, Mithorden seems to think you need instruction. I volunteered.”

  Luthiel sized him up and immediately disliked the idea. She remembered sparring with Hueron and the beatings she used to get from it. She got a lot more than she gave. She was certain the Blade Dancer would be far worse. Then there was also Leowin to consider. Would Vanye hold a grudge? Seeing no alternative, she flipped the practice sword into her hand and sprang to her feet.

  “Mithorden says I need practice?”

  “It’s as strange to me as it is to you. Let’s get this over with.”

  So Vanye isn’t excited about the idea either, she thought. He turned and began leading her to an open area. He walked with a relaxed gait, his practice sword held loosely in his hand. Without looking at her he began talking.