Luthiel's Song: The War of Mists

by Robert Marston Fannéy

  “I should get you in a chat with Mithorden,” Luthiel said. “I bet you’d even teach him a thing or two.” She shot a look at the sorcerer who appeared too occupied with his thoughts to be listening. With a last look at Weiryendel, she slid the sword back into its scabbard. It nearly filled the length now.

  “The sorcerer?” Leowin smirked. “I bet I’d give him a good run.”

  “I’m certain you would,” Luthiel said with a smile and then her face became thoughtful. “What you’ve said does seem to be possible. But I know there’s darkness in me too.”

  Leowin nodded. “It’s like you said. It’s about choice. Sure, there’s dark in everyone. It’s how we handle it that counts.”

  “And handling it well once is no guarantee. Each time things work out it’s like a small miracle.”

  “Like a gift unearned?” Leowin asked.

  “Like grace,” Luthiel replied with a pat to Leowin’s shoulder.

  Healing

  They continued through the field of maimed and dying. Elves lay beside goblins and animals. Here a faerie cradled her tattered wings—if they weren’t mended soon she’d never fly again; there a red-cap sat still as an elf wrapped a bandage around a wound so deep it exposed his skull. His eyes were vacant and clear fluid streamed from his nose. Hundreds lay in the field. These were the worst of the wounded. Most suffered from poison as well as terrible physical injury. Too much of the bleeding could not be stopped. The life flooded out of them and even Wyrd did little.

  Leowin walked alongside her—face pale, eyes filled with sadness. Melkion had sat silent on Luthiel’s shoulder as the sisters talked. Now he flared wings, casting rainbows out over the dying as he bowed his head in respect. Mithorden, Vaelros, and Othalas drew closer. At the wolf’s approach, many of the wounded moaned in fear. One watched him with mad eyes as he pointed and mouthed “Death! Death!”

  The smell of blood and fear filled the air. Luthiel passed on, taking it all in, saying soft words of comfort when she felt she could. She watched as healers struggled to use both magic and medicine. It was such a helpless thing, walking through the field. As she continued she felt more and more ill at ease, more and more as if she must do something.

  “Try to find Winowe,” she said to Leowin. “If I can be of any help here, she’s the one who’ll show me.”

  Leowin nodded and scanned the field for any sign of her mother. After some time, she shook her head. “Too many,” she said before breaking off and making her way to the nearest healer. Luthiel watched as her sister picked her way through the field of wounded. The healer looked up and Luthiel gasped at her sunken eyes. It was as if she were giving small shreds of her life to save them. Leowin spoke with her but Luthiel couldn’t hear. The healer nodded and pointed further down the field. Luthiel didn’t wait for her sister. She started at once along the way the healer showed and met Leowin further on.

  On a nearby hilltop, an elf with a banner appeared. The banner was for all the Faelands. It was the High Lord’s banner.

  The queen’s banner, she corrected.

  It displayed a golden five pointed star on a field of black. The star’s upper gap cupped a gleaming design of Oerin’s Eye. Soelee burned at the bottom tip and the eight moons filled the spaces and capped the points in between.

  It only took the banner man a moment to see her. His eyes found the great wolf and Melkion’s rainbow wings first, then followed on to her. With a shout, he rushed down the hill and came before her. He dropped to a knee and put a closed fist over his heart. Luthiel felt a chill of recognition as she looked down at him.

  “I’ve come to serve as your man, my queen,” he said in a rush. “The other banner man fell with High Lord Tuorlin. I picked up the standard even as he named you.”

  She smiled at him warmly. Here was the same Galwin she’d known since childhood. The one who’d given her a pandur’s box. The one she’d danced with. But here was also a blooded warrior. His heavy plate armor was caked in grime and gore. A wicked greatsword rested in a sling across his back. A flash of purple tinted metal above the scabbard showed a blade crafted of Viel moonsteel. His eyes were hard, still filled with the night’s terrors. Yet there was wonder in them too and relief as well.

  “I’m glad I found you,” he said. “Now the captains will know where to send the runners. There’s much still to be done. They’re off to hunt the Widdershae. Already, Vyrl are starting to burn their webs. They have a demon with them—kin to Thrar Taurmori—who holds a terrible fire. He’s leading the force.”

  “Gormtoth,” Luthiel interrupted.

  “My Queen?” Galwin gave her a puzzled look. To Luthiel, the words came too easy for him. She wondered with a sinking feeling if he’d always felt some sense of deference to her.

  “Gormtoth is his name. He is Narcor—the opposite of Thrar Taurmori.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  “Don’t worry Galwin, you wouldn’t. But you may find it strange to know I think of him as a friend. You’re my friend aren’t you?”

  “I’m proud to say I am.”

  “I wouldn’t like it if someone compared you with a demon either.”

  Galwin opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again. If he was out of his depth before with Luthiel, now he was entirely lost. Behind, she could hear Vaelros chuckle. But a glance over her shoulder revealed a jealous glare. Luthiel looked away. She didn’t like being an object to such ugly looks or feelings.

  “So this banner will help people find me and bring me news?” she said, running her fingers through its threads.

  “That and bring runners to ask for orders. You lead the army now.” Galwin looked away and over the wounded. “What’s left of it,” he said in a lower voice.

  Luthiel nodded in sympathy. “Keep near.”

  Galwin flushed but quickly covered it with a bow.

  They crossed the rest of the field in silence—each listening to the sounds of wounded all around. Luthiel took advantage of the time to get her bearings. The army was doing its best to reform around her. Fae were accounted for. Units were called to order. Above, faerie and birds still filled the air. She was reassured to see Khoraz and Firewing among them.

  They’ve stayed for me. At least I won’t be without some help if things turn bad.

  So they followed Leowin down one side of the field and up the other. As Luthiel passed, she felt a growing sense of loss.

  Hundreds dead. Yet I’m afraid it’s just starting.

  It was a dark thought and it drew her eyes to the sorcerer.

  He keeps hinting of danger. As she drifted closer, she thought of his quarrel with Zalos. The more she thought about it, the less she liked it.

  “I think I agree with you about prophecy,” she said to Melkion. At this, the dragon snorted smoke.

  She changed direction and walked closer to Mithorden.

  “You were going to tell me something later?” she asked as she drew up beside him.

  A dark look crossed his face and then was gone. Like some stray cloud that passes over the sun at noon and then lifts away.

  “Yes. But not here. Not now.”

  “Can you at least tell me what it’s about?”

  He looked up at blazing Soelee and Oerin’s Eye. “The dying of this Age. And how, for some, a time of trouble is also an opportunity for conquest.”

  Luthiel walked beside him in silence for a few moments.

  “That is all?”

  “For now, yes.”

  “It makes more questions than it answers.”

  The sorcerer nodded. “I didn’t want to trouble you. On the road there will be time to rest. Time to think about what’s coming.”

  “You sound like you’re expecting something. A storm?”

  At her words, the sorcerer’s face darkened and his eyes grew distant. The change was startling. She’d never seen him act this way. It was almost as if a desperation and doubt had set upon him. It unsettled her deeply and she realized how much she’d come to t
rust in the sorcerer’s optimism. But seeing this look on his face and in those deep eyes was like seeing the ending of comfort.

  “A storm you say?” he replied with a grimace. “Yes, though I’d never thought of it that way. A storm then, but one that blows across all the sky. One with winds strong enough to extinguish the weaker stars and with clouds large enough to block out the strongest. If it’s a storm then it’s the one that eats worlds.”

  A lump formed in her throat and her mouth watered in fear. A storm that eats worlds? What does it mean?

  “There are signs it’s coming?” she asked.

  “On the road to Ithilden. After all is finished here. I don’t want you troubled now.”

  “Too late,” Luthiel said.

  “Luthiel! I’ve found her!” Leowin’s shouting startled her enough to make her quiver.

  “Go on,” the sorcerer said. “We’ll talk later.”

  Luthiel took one last look at the sorcerer before turning around and noticing Leowin guiding Winowe toward them. Seems there’s more to it all than he showed at Lenidras. With a shiver, she realized he’d probably told her just enough to get by. He’s been around for a very long time. Might take years for him to tell me even a small part. He’s just giving me what I need. The thought stuck with her and nagged at her for a long time after. Even when danger seemed far off, the mystery of what Mithorden knew troubled her. From his manner and from his way of speaking, she sensed he’d experienced a thousand terrors over the ages. No one, no matter how good, could remain unaffected after so much. She didn’t doubt him. Yet she feared what he knew and what he had yet to reveal. Deep truths. The ones that filled in the dark gaps in myth and history. Terrible and dangerous. For in a world where nightmare may become real, a terrible truth became an awful weapon.

  Like Zalos. He uses truth as a weapon.

  She stopped and drew a sharp breath. He uses truth as a weapon. I wonder how many he learned from Mithorden or—or even father.

  Luthiel’s thought was interrupted. Before she could think or say a thing, she was caught up in her foster-mother’s arms.

  “Thank you!” Winowe said to her as she clutched Luthiel close. Her arms seemed thinner than before and her eyes had that same hollowed look the other healers showed. But in them she could see joy.

  She let Winowe fold her up and she rested her head on her shoulder. For a moment she felt she was home again in Flir Light. This time, she felt she belonged.

  “What did I do?” she asked.

  “What?” Winowe laughed and then choked on her tears. “First you took Leowin’s place. Then you stopped us from going to war with Vyrl. We would have gone to the Vale. Dead or changed—that’s what we’d likely be without you.”

  “Leowin was my sister. It was the right thing.”

  Winowe laughed and held her tighter. “You did it even though we didn’t deserve it.” Her face fell in shame. “Your Stone... we used it as payment for Lorethain’s schooling.” She looked away. “Now we’ve lost him.”

  Luthiel felt her belly tighten. When Leowin had given her back the Wyrd Stone she’d confided that it had come with her as a child. Instead of saving it for her until she came of age, they’d used it to pay for Lorethain’s sorcery lessons. “It was wrong,” she said after an uncomfortable pause. “But Leowin mended it. Now what’s this about Lorethain?”

  “Gone. Left with Elag and Zalos.” Winowe looked small and afraid.

  “With Zalos?” She blinked her eyes and felt the shock come on her. She had to lean into Winowe to steady herself.

  Winowe nodded sadly.

  “But I, we, may have to fight them.”

  This seemed to trouble Winowe. Then she did something that seemed very strange to Luthiel. She fell to her knees.

  “I know you’re queen now. But you are also a woman and may one day be a mother. So I beg you, who risked so much for your sister, to spare your brother.”

  Luthiel couldn’t stand to see Winowe there beneath her. She took her by the shoulders and stood her up. Then, holding her at arms length, she looked her straight in the eye.

  “I promise I’ll do all I can.”

  Winowe leaned into her again. “After what happened with Leowin, I’ve come to think of you as a hero. I’m not fooled by the werewolf or what some of the others say. You’re a good heart, Luthiel.”

  The words made Luthiel feel a mixture of joy and sadness. Here she was being recognized by one of the people who mattered most to her. To do a terribly hard thing and then to be acknowledged. It was overpowering. She almost lost herself in Winowe’s arms. But a glance over her foster-mother’s shoulder brought it all back—the dying, the reason she’d come in the first place. Gently, she pushed her mother away.

  “The battle. The dying—”

  There was a flash of guilt on Winowe’s face.

  “I’ve stopped for too long. They need me.” She started to turn away.

  “Wait. They’re why I came. I want to help.”

  Winowe stared back at her with a blank look. Then she frowned in thought. “You want to heal them?”

  “To try at least.”

  “But you’ve never—”

  “She’s a quick learner,” Melkion interrupted. He’d flown about at a respectful distance while Luthiel and Winowe reunited. But now, he landed with a flare and a puff of golden smoke upon Luthiel’s shoulder. Winowe watched the dragon with wonder.

  “Few have the talent. I’ve never seen someone learn it in a day.”

  “She’s a sorcerer,” Mithorden said from a little ways off. He’d also followed Luthiel at a respectful distance as he took the fae army into account. Now he wandered closer and looked on both Winowe and Luthiel with interest. “And very strong at certain things. Healing may be one of them. I’ve taught her spells in just minutes. She made one of her own this morning and nearly stole all of Zalos’ wolfriders from under his nose! She’s like her father.”

  Winowe looked at Luthiel with an appraising eye and opened her mouth to say something. But before she could speak, Leowin stepped forward and put a hand on her mother’s arm.

  “I’ve seen her do it. A Widdershae tried to turn me into a spider with a spell. Luthiel stopped it! There were some more she saved. But they were already spiders. So she changed them into Senasarab—the good spiders who are helping us hunt Widdershae.”

  Winowe put a hand on Luthiel’s cheek. “I’ve known you since a babe. It’s hard for me to believe all this.” She shook her head. “Valkire’s daughter?”

  Luthiel nodded. “It’s been tough for me too.”

  “Then come and learn what you can. There are far too many wounded. Even just one more healer could save twenty lives.”

  She motioned to Luthiel to follow as she turned and walked over to the young fae she was tending. A beautiful Ithildarin archer. Her body lay crumpled beneath Winowe. In her belly was a great gash. Blood flowed out, running in small rivers over her skin and pooling in the grass.

  “Her name is Lyra,” she whispered so the wounded fae couldn’t hear. “A spider cut her open. I could mend her flesh. But the venom can’t be stopped and may still kill her.”

  “You don’t have anti-venom?”

  “No-one knows of an anti-venom.”

  “I do,” Luthiel said. Kneeling, she rummaged through her pack and found one of the mostly empty potion vials she’d used on Othalas. She handed it to Winowe. “Give her what’s left in this.”

  Then she turned to Melkion. “Can you find Mindersnatch?”

  The dragon flared his wings. “In a moment!” he cried and then launched himself into the air. The suns burned bright through his rainbow wings. Then he was away—flying off toward the circling crows.

  Melkion was barely gone before she wheeled on Mithorden and Vaelros. “Do you have any anti-venom left?” she asked.

  Soon, she had five more vials to give Winowe.

  “Use these,” she said, as she handed them over. “One should be enough for each. Hopefully, Melkio
n will bring more. Now can you teach me?”

  Winowe looked at the vials in her hand as if they were a miracle. “Yes, this will help,” she said, her voice filled with gratitude.

  She guided Luthiel back to Lyra then sat her down beside the wounded elf. “Watch and listen,” she said.

  She arranged herself into a kneeling position and tilted a vial into Lyra’s mouth. Lyra choked the foul stuff down, made a face, then cursed.

  “Much worse. I liked the other stuff better,” she said weakly.

  “Good, then maybe this will help you more,” Winowe said with a reassuring look. “Just lay still and try to relax. I’m to give it a little time. Luthiel here will be helping. So don’t be alarmed.”

  At mention of Luthiel’s name, Lyra became more alert. She shifted her head to get a better look at Luthiel and then smiled.

  “The good spiders who came for me told me about you.”

  “There Lyra, just try to relax,” Winowe said.

  “I know it’ll be well now,” Lyra replied with a smile at Luthiel. Then, she shut her eyes and let out a slow exhalation. Her body, though stiff with pain, became more relaxed.

  “Let’s begin then. I’ll explain as I go. Sometimes I’ll have to shut my eyes and touch the Wyrd. Sometimes I won’t be able to speak. Don’t be alarmed.”

  Luthiel nodded to show she understood.

  “Good. Now I’ll start by touching her. The Wyrd of healing is best used through touch. It creates a connection.” She placed a hand on Lyra’s chest and closed her eyes. After a few moments of silence, she continued. “Now I can sense Lyra’s life through the Wyrd. It helps me tell how she’s hurt and where. It is all communicated through the bond of our touch. At first, all I feel is heart-beat and breathing. I put my breathing in synch and through the Wyrd my heartbeat falls into rhythm as well. When this happens, I gain a broader sense of her well being. I can feel the hurts as if they were mine and, in Wyrd, I can see them as well.”

  Winowe’s face tensed in pain.

  “Now comes the hard part,” Winowe continued. “I can sense her pain and the broken parts inside her. To mend them, I send some of my blood into her. I share the wound as if it were part of my own body and then use the healing Wyrd to repair it. When this happens, I both see and feel the hurt. I must be careful. For though I can tap into Lyra’s energy and life to help heal her, I also use up some of my own reserves. If I use too much, I could pass out or even die. This is the way life-Wyrd works. Life sustains life. But it always comes at a cost. So a healer must take care she does not overtax herself. She must pace herself. Eat, drink and take rest often. Women make better healers. Their bodies are more resilient to pain and they recover faster.”