Luthiel's Song: The War of Mists

by Robert Marston Fannéy

  Luthiel couldn’t help but smile. Elonwyn’s assuredness and familiarity gave a strange sense of comfort.

  “What brought you?”

  “You,” Elonwyn said.

  “How did you know?”

  “Elwin heard your Namesong. She comes to us in dreams now and then. The Dark Forest Lord no longer speaks to us—out of envy.”

  Luthiel swallowed but her mouth was dry. Elonwyn’s words seemed to fall upon her like blows. Who is this jealous Lord? So powerful and yet so blind? Even deeper was her hurt for her father. She knew his sword on sight. She must have known him well. Luthiel wanted to ask a hundred questions. But with each moment more Widdershae slipped across the river. She sensed this was their best chance to catch them before they reached the mountains.

  “I would like nothing more than to talk,” Luthiel said. “But there’s no time.” She pointed down the hill with her sword. Nearly half the spiders were across with the other half scrambling toward the banks. Othalas growled and she could feel his muscles tensing.

  Elonwyn’s brows lowered and she nodded. “Hit them hard here.” Her unicorn struck its hoof against the ground and raised its horn high in challenge.

  Luthiel looked down the hill. “They’re crossing. If we charge together, we’ll catch them with their force split.”

  The Valkyrie held her sword high as she smiled bravely at Luthiel. “For Elwin!” she called out.

  Cries echoed back as other Valkyrie picked up her call.

  “Together then!” she shouted.

  “Together!” Luthiel answered, lifting Weiryendel and turning to the werewolves. Othalas gave a howl and then they sprang down the slope.

  Unicorn and werewolf swept down the hill, falling with fury on the spiders. The animals rushed in too—among them, above them, beneath them. Birds lifted out of trees and rodents rose from their burrows. Othalas let out a howl that echoed through the wood. Soon the werewolves’ baying filled the valley. Unicorn and Valkyrie sang out their own battle hymn as they rushed in. The first spiders they came upon, worn out by the running and endless fighting, were too exhausted to react. Bite and horn, spear and arrow took them swiftly. A screeching rose up from the spiders. In fury and fear, they turned and fought back. Spiders slung shadows across their path and snared many werewolves, animals, and unicorn. Others gathered into large groups and pounced—punching holes in the charge. She saw one unicorn pulled down and bitten. Its terrified screams rang out. Then a werewolf was completely covered in shadow webs. He seemed to freeze as the hope drained from his eyes. She quickly found herself in a dangerous fight. Her quiver was empty but she didn’t remember shooting her last arrow. Weiryendel sang in her hands, slicing through the nightmare webs.

  A group of spiders rushed up the hill at her. She could see anger in their sickly fae eyes. In their forelimbs they clutched shadow-strands. There were about thirty all rushing toward her and she knew that even Othalas would be overwhelmed. She glanced up the hill, thinking for a moment of running.

  It was then that she noticed the tree.

  It was a dead tree—scarred by lightning but thick and tall with hundreds of spiky branches. Tilting slightly downhill, it seemed to lean out over the rushing spiders. She urged Othalas back and, in a quick bound, they were behind the tree. With two swings of Weiryendel, she cut clear through the dead wood. There was a groan and then a splintering. Finally, with a crash, the tree fell into the spiders’ midst. Three were instantly crushed by the great trunk and branches. Many more were pinned. As swiftly as it had come on, the charge fell apart. Luthiel and Othalas rushed forward—sword and fang finishing those who couldn’t flee. Then they sprinted on and down the hill, catching up to the charge of werewolves as another knot of defenders gathered against them.

  Many spiders had turned to fight out of desperation. But others were driven by the whipping legs of overseers. Slowly the charge ground down into melee. They were still pushing forward, but the fighting allowed the other spiders to escape. She thought she saw Saurlolth among a group of large Widdershae making their way across the river. Twilight was coming on, and now even bats were coming out to trouble the spiders.

  Then, as if by some silent signal, all the spiders turned around and fled. Above, the birds and bats were joined by Khoraz and Firewing. Luthiel saw the flash of Melkion’s mercury body winding through them. His violet eyes blazed with an insane fury as he shot long, blue streams of fire at his enemies. Even a few faerie had joined in. They shot burning sparks down on spiders, who dipped their bodies in the river for protection.

  Luthiel cut through the shell of a Widder and it fell to the ground, asleep. The silver scar left by the blow seemed to gleam in the twilight.

  She raised Weiryendel high and shouted “Valkire!” before leading the werewolves in a charge across the water. Above, a mercury shape shot down—borne on rainbow wings shaded pink by the twilight. She could hear the dragon yelling but couldn’t make out the words.

  She and Othalas splashed through the water. The great wolf pounced on another spider. He bit as she slashed down with Weiryendel. Though focused on her strike, she could see something moving on the far bank. When she drew her sword back from the fallen spider and shifted her gaze, her eyes locked and her stomach filled with terror.

  “Back!” she cried.

  Too late. For on the far bank she saw the demon lord Thrar Taurmori surrounded by giant trolls. They wore strange garb and their hair was braided and woven through with spikes that left tiny cuts as they passed over their face, neck, and shoulders. The great lord held a spear. This he hefted and threw. It leapt the distance between them coming directly toward her. The heat of the great demon’s form caused the shaft to ignite and flames licked about the head. Othalas reared at the last moment—stopping the blow with his body. Its force pushing through him—causing the great wolf to fall. She found herself submerged and pinned beneath the werewolf to the river’s rocky bottom.

  She opened her eyes and through the water she could see other spears splashing down, other werewolves and unicorn falling. She struggled and Othalas thrashed about. Somehow, in the confusion, she came free. She stood and her head broke the surface. She gulped the air and found herself waist deep in the water.

  Thrar Taurmori stood before her. Where his feet and legs touched the water, a steam rose up and, around him, the river boiled. In one hand, he held a great black sword. In the other, a blazing hammer. He’d cast off his dragon scale cloak and his naked body sweat brilliant fire.

  Somehow, she’d managed to keep hold of Weiryendel. Now, she held it before her and shouted—“Betrayer! Demon! Return to Rimwold and trouble this place no more!”

  The great lord gave a laugh that sounded like the heave of a bonfire. “Would you command me, little queen? Your words have no power here. For there is no true law but that of violence and I am its king!”

  Hammer and sword lashed out. His weapons were massive—far too large to deflect—so she leapt away. The great weapons splashed into the water where she’d stood only a moment before—carving pits in the river bed, causing the water to boil.

  Tap and turn had made her a stronger jumper than she knew. Up and back she sprang—clearing the water and coming down on a boulder ten feet behind. But a nearby troll caught her legs by the shaft of his spear and she fell. Thrar Taurmori pushed through the water, flames screaming at its touch. Ponderously, he lifted his great hammer and brought it down on her. She could do little else. She held Weiryendel out in a vain effort to ward off the blow. There was a shriek and her arm jolted. But her grip held firm. Sword clove through hammer. Half glanced off her chest—knocking the wind from her and scorching her tabard before splashing with a gout of steam into the river. Then the werewolves were rushing over her, leaping upon the demon, pushing him down into the river. Some caught fire but they bore down on him, heedless of any pain.

  Pushed beneath the water, his body flickered. Then the flame went out showing skin—hot red and white but covered in expand
ing black patches. From beneath the water he let out a cry and steam boiled up from the river. His great hand lashed out grasping then crushing the neck of a werewolf. While still on his back, he ran another through with his sword. Still more rushed over him, snapping at his throat.

  She tried to stand, but her legs failed and she crouched on the stone, panting for air. Pain lanced through her chest and she could feel blood trickling down her side. Probing with her fingers, she pushed against her chest. Two ribs shifted unnaturally and she saw spots, almost losing consciousness. More werewolves rushed in, grasping at her arms with their mouths, pulling her back toward the riverbank. Arrows splashed all around her. One bounced off her chest, deflected by her Lumiel mail.

  Othalas pulled himself from the current and followed. Though pierced in his flank by the great spear, he stood and lumbered after her through the bloody water.

  Luthiel’s head began to clear and she saw rank after rank of Troll and Goblin on the far bank. Luthiel coughed in pain and watched as unicorn, Valkyrie, and werewolf retreated with her toward the near bank and its relative safety. Thrar Taurmori had regained his feet and, lifting his arms to the sky, he let out a monstrous howl as fires reignited over his body.

  “It’s over,” she whispered hoarsely to Othalas.

  “Done,” the werewolf growled through his pain. “We’ve hurt them badly enough. Look, they’re still running.”

  Luthiel raised her head and noticed the Widdershae still fleeing up the far slope. If it didn’t hurt so bad, she might have laughed at the sight. Instead she gave a grim smile and gulped more air.

  “Let’s go back. Can we run?” She asked it as much for herself as the wolf.

  “Soon as someone pulls this pig poker out of me,” he growled.

  She ran her fingers through his fur in concern. The wound looked terrible. But after Cauthraus and the spider venom she knew better.

  Do I?

  She stumbled to his side and with both hands drew out the still smoking shaft. Blood spilled to the ground, then filled up the hole. Almost immediately, she could see clots forming, flesh weaving back together. She shook her head in amazement.

  “Get on—before the fae start to miss their queen.”

  “I will. But ride easy. I think the demon cracked my ribs.”

  She’d only just clambered onto the great wolf’s back when there was a flare of rainbow wings as Melkion alighted on a nearby branch. His eyes seemed sad as he looked her over.

  “Wait,” the dragon said. “It’s time you remembered your promise.”

  Melkion’s Demand

  Luthiel pushed some scorched hair out of her face and gave the tiny dragon a puzzled look.

  “Promise?”

  “You’ve forgotten?” Melkion asked. His brows lowered and his face faded into a pained expression.

  “What’s this about?” the werewolf growled.

  The dragon shot Othalas an angry look as fire curled in his jaws. “Be quiet, Vale Wolf.”

  Othalas’ answering growl was deep and primal. But, for the moment, he kept silent.

  Melkion swung his head toward Luthiel. “I want you to come with me to the mountains. The spiders will be confused. It’s our best chance. I know a secret way. If you will follow?” As he said that last, his voice seemed to drop and his eyes grew sad. But it was an intense kind of sadness—one clouded with anger.

  “I remember promising to help you, Melkion,” Luthiel said. A pang ran through her. She’d caught a glimpse, just then, of some deep and long-born hurt. “But I don’t think it’s wise to follow these spiders. They’re wary from fighting and the hills are crawling with Rimwold’s finest.” She said the last bit with a hint of sarcasm. “Now what’s all this about?”

  Melkion’s jaws fell slack and his wings crumpled. Fat dragon tears fell from his eyes and rolled into his mouth with explosive pops. Then, with a shake and flaring of wings, his body stiffened and his jaw again grew firm. “It’s my father. He’s trapped beneath a mountain.”

  Luthiel shook her head. “Trapped? How? I thought dragons could eat even granite.”

  The tiny dragon drew himself up and flared out his wings. His tail arched and fire crackled in his jaws. Luthiel leaned back. She’d never seen the dragon so upset. His rapid swings from mood to mood were uncanny.

  “He was imprisoned. The Wyrd in that mountain is old and it is strong. Too strong for even a dragon to break.”

  For a moment, she didn’t understand. Then, Luthiel felt her heart quicken. She’d heard of only one mountain that could trap a dragon in such a way. Heard of only one dragon imprisoned there.

  “Which mountain?”

  “Flower Mountain. The old pass.” Now Melkion was hanging his head. “It doesn’t matter! You gave your promise!”

  Melkion’s words seemed to come from too far away. Flower Mountain! Faehorne’s Prison!? She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. How did the old rhyme go?

  In elder days

  With freedom yet fresh

  Borne on a wind

  Like burning breath

  Lightning his fire

  Soot his rain

  Faehorne the mighty

  King of pain

  Homes he’s the wrecker

  Tombs he’s the filler

  Army destroyer

  The great tree killer!

  The one Blade Dancers imprisoned in the mountains for devouring a Tree of Life?

  “Faehorne the tree killer?!” Luthiel exclaimed without thinking. “He’s your father?”

  Melkion’s plumed tail flicked in anger. “Faehorne is my father. But he is no tree killer. Narhoth ate out the roots. Of shadow, she made a shape like my father’s to cover her. For nearly three thousand years, now, he’s suffered for her crime.”

  Luthiel looked at the dragon under lowered brows. “I can see why you didn’t tell me sooner. The son of a tree killer.”

  “As much as you’re the Blood Witch,” Melkion said acidly.

  The gibe bit deep and Luthiel found herself shaking her head. “So many lies. I can’t tell what’s true anymore.”

  “Will you help me?”

  Luthiel looked away toward the dark mountains. Oerin’s Eye rested between two peaks, casting ghostly shadows out into the hills. Melkion’s eyes filled with tears. Some rolled into his mouth, hissing where they met fire.

  “You know I can’t now. If I leave, this land will fall apart and Zalos will snatch up the pieces.”

  “The spiders came many years ago—to drink his blood.” He looked away into the twilight as if seeing something that wasn’t there. “You should see it. They swarm over him. Prying at the cracks in his scales. You must understand. He will die soon.”

  If it were my mother, would I go now? Luthiel shook her head, unable to answer her own question. I must help him. And yet I cannot.

  “I promise, Melkion. I’ll help your father as soon as I’m able. Can you reach him? Can you tell him to wait?” She couldn’t even fathom what she was promising. Enter the heart of the spiders’ realm to free one of the most hated dragons in all of history? Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am the Blood Witch.

  The dragon let out a tortured breath and slowly nodded. “I can’t travel with you any further. A great spirit of Oesha is dying. If he dies I don’t want him to be alone at the last. I must go. Send a Khoraz to let me know when you’re coming. Just don’t take too long.” He spread his rainbow wings wide and gave her a bow. Then, with a single flap, he was lifting away. She watched him climb, shrinking to a speck and finally disappearing into the twilight.

  Aftermath

  “He’s gone.” She said hoarsely. One by one, it seemed she was losing the friends she’d gained in her journey to the Vale. At least she could hope to see Melkion again. But at what cost!? She wondered if she could even help him. Free Faehorne?

  Othalas nodded. Despite his anger at the dragon, he seemed sad. He turned his great head sideways and looked up at her with one big, yellow, eye. “You were right
to refuse. It’s not time.”

  She patted him on the neck.

  “I wonder if it’d be better for everyone if I just followed Melkion.”

  Othalas snorted. “After all you’ve done you still doubt? They need something to bring them together. What’s better—you or Zalos?”

  “That’s just it. I’m not certain I can. You saw them.”

  Othalas shook his neck. The healing was making his ribs burn. “Wherever power’s at stake, there’s a contest.”

  “How can I win?”

  Othalas gave a gravelly laugh. “Now you’re thinking like a werewolf.”

  They padded back through the animals and Valkyrie. Dead creatures lay scattered over the ground and she turned her head toward them as she passed. Death seems to follow wherever I go, she thought sadly. Unicorn passed among them looking for wounded. When they found someone still alive, they would stoop, lowering their horns to touch the hurts.

  Luthiel found a clear place to sit down and tend to her own wounds. Stripping off her tabard, armor, and silk undergarb, she untied her new pouch and pulled out her Wyrd Stone. Then she looked herself over. Fully half her chest was black and bloody from Thrar Taurmori’s hammer blow. Probing with her fingers she felt again her cracked ribs. All from a piece of his hammer falling on me. She frowned and tried not to think about how much worse it might have been or how fortunate she was to be breathing at all. Singing in a low voice, she slipped into the World of Dreams even as she touched her skin to work the healing. Cool energy bled from the Stone and into her body. She worked slowly to mend bone and then moved on to repair even burns and bruises. She didn’t know what new trouble she might encounter but she wanted to be unhurt and ready to face anything. Finally finished, she slipped from the World of Dreams and looked over her body. Her wounds were fully mended and her skin gave a healthy pink glow.

  Donning her clothes and armor, she returned to help and give healing where she could. She moved through the wounded beside the unicorn and paused for a moment in wonder to observe the soft glow that seemed to come from their horns and heal almost any wounds they touched. Healing was exhausting for unicorn as well and, after only a few tended wounds each, the magical creatures had to rest. After mending an eagle’s broken wing, she turned and noticed Othalas had grown impatient. He paced side to side and glanced over his shoulder at the stars which seemed much further on than she remembered. Oerin’s Eye had dipped below the horizon. But he’d grown large, even for High Summer, and his light spilled over Oesha’s rim, dimming down the moons and stars.