Luthiel's Song: Dreams of the Ringed Vale

by Robert Marston Fannéy

  “Not at all like Elag,” she whispered. She took one glance down the river past its bend and into the distance where strange shadows seemed to play across the water. In that land, the shadows seemed to fall longer, twisting away from whatever cast them in black spirals.

  You’re just afraid, Luthiel, she thought. Now your eyes are playing tricks on you.

  For a moment, she considered going on. But at last her will failed her. Perhaps it was her fear of what lay ahead, or maybe it was just the kind voice of the sorcerer. It seemed so long ago, though it was less than a week, since she’d laughed or shared a moment of companionship.

  “Well, a little help wouldn’t hurt,” she said, then mounted the stairs behind him. In truth, she was lonely and desperate for company and a friendly voice. With what lay before her haunting her every thought, she wanted nothing more than to enjoy the time that was left to her. Who knows, maybe the sorcerer could help her after all.

  “Ah, so you’ve decided to come,” the sorcerer said looking over his shoulder. “Good!” He smiled and spread his arms. “Welcome to Lenidras, as it was known of old. Elroth helped me lay the first stone more than three thousand years ago.”

  “Lenidras,” she said. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Few have,” the sorcerer said. “At that time there was reason enough to keep the school hidden. Here, I taught the ancient mysteries to promising young sorcerers.”

  “A school of sorcerery? Here?”

  “Yes. Though small and secret, the greatest sorcerers of that day came from Lenidras. Those who knew it would say it surpassed even Tirnagûl.”

  “Why was it kept a secret?”

  “It was a dark time. In that day the study of sorcerery was forbidden to all but those who were hand selected by the Vyrl. Tirnagûl existed because it stood at the heart of a cunning maze. Lenidras existed because it was secret.”

  They had reached the top of the stairs. The red doors stood before her. Upon the walls, long necked gutters styled in the shape of dragons heads opened their mouths as though in a cry of greeting. Each round window bore at its heart a small work of stained glass—a flower, a flame, a dragonfly. The roofs swooped high reaching spires up like fingers tipped with workings in the shape of suns, moons, stars. Through the windows, one by one, lights were winking on.

  “It is a beautiful place,” Luthiel said.

  “Yes, Lenidras has a way of making its own light. I come to it, now and again, for rest from the road. It is seldom, though, that I have the pleasure of introducing it.”

  The sorcerer rapped gently “Warlin! Come! We’ve a guest!”

  The doors swung wide and Luthiel was greeted by a stately goblin who bowed, then offered to take her pack even as he swept the fishing pole from the sorcerer’s hands.

  “It is an honor, Lady–”

  “Lady Luthiel,” the sorcerer supplied.

  “Welcome to Lenidras, Lady Luthiel. I am Warlin, the groundsmaster. Will you be staying for dinner?”

  “She will,” the sorcerer said before she could answer. “Best pour a bath first, though, and ready a room for tonight.” He turned to Luthiel. “You would like a bath wouldn’t you?”

  Luthiel stood there a moment. A bath? She would like nothing more, but she didn’t have time to linger.

  “I’m in a hurry. I really shouldn’t.”

  “Nonsense! You’ll travel faster after a bath, a good meal and some decent rest. When was the last time you slept in a bed?”

  It was then that she realized how tired she was. She had traveled hard for four days and often late into the night. Still, she worried. The werewolf was coming for Leowin.

  “I really shouldn’t.”

  Warlin nodded. “Take a bath at least and scrub the road off. You’ll have to wait for dinner in any case.”

  She found herself nodding. “I suppose a bath would be nice.”

  Warlin put his hands together and smiled. “Well, now that that’s settled, if you would please follow me Lady Luthiel, I’ll show you to your bath.”

  Warlin led Luthiel down a wide hallway. At the end were two giant statues carved in the likeness of unicorns. But at their sides were folded great wings and from their hooves and horns shone a light like blue fire. Though they appeared to be carved out of stone pale as the face of Lunen, their manes fell in hues of every color. Their eyes were closed, their heads bowed as though in a deep sleep. For a moment, she thought she saw one move and reached out in wonder to touch it.

  Warlin grabbed her hand and, embarrassed, she returned it to her side.

  “They’re beautiful,” she said.

  Warlin nodded. “Yes, but do not touch them, it will disturb their slumber.”

  “So they’re real?”

  “As real as you or I.”

  “What are they called?”

  “Keirin. They are spirits of light, storm and air, but they slumber in stone. Come along, your bath is waiting.”

  But she couldn’t take her eyes off the beautiful creatures slumbering in stone and she stared at them long after she’d passed that archway and into the great chamber that lay beyond. Finally, she looked away and noticed that in front of her stood two large tables running parallel to one another. Intricately carved seats were set along the lengths of each table. She craned her neck to look above her and saw circles rimmed with light or fire painted on the ceiling. Within them she could see a sun, the moons, and stars shining. The ceiling took on the hues of evening and she saw Orin’s Eye setting from the ceiling and into the west-facing window. The circles, though plainly painted, were moving as they followed the heavenly bodies they depicted.

  The hall was lined with swooping poles, from which hung glimmering flir bug bulbs, and large half-circle windows looked both east and west over rolling fields and gardens. Far away she could see the silvery line of the river Rendalas winding over the Minonowe.

  On the walls were portraits of mysterious figures and paintings of vivid landscapes. Her eyes were drawn to the pictures and she couldn’t help but stare at the beautiful and fierce faces. One, she recognized as that of the sorcerer. She was about to step closer to read the caption beneath when Warlin caught her by the arm.

  “Lady, your room is this way,” the goblin said.

  She nodded politely and let herself be guided to a south facing archway, then up two flights of stairs and finally to the end of a long hall. Now and again, they passed other goblins involved in various tasks. Occasionally one would stop and whisper briefly to Warlin before hurrying off again.

  “You sure do keep the place nice,” she said.

  Warlin walked on for a few moments silently as though in thought. “Sometimes, old students or masters of Lenidras come to meet or do research. Our library is quite extensive. It is less a school now and more a place where old things are kept or where, on occasion, great meetings are held.”

  “Leowin would love this place,” Luthiel whispered.

  “Ah here it is.” Warlin said and with a quick step to the right he pulled the latch on a beautifully carved stone door set with crystal. On the other side was a warm room with a wide bed, a desk piled with books, a beautiful round window that overlooked an orchard and an open door leading to a marble floored bath. Towels and a white-and-gray robe with a silver brooch were laid on the bed.

  “While you’re here, it is traditional to wear the robes of a sorcerer of your order,” Warlin said.

  Luthiel almost laughed. “But there must be some mistake, I’m not a sorcerer.”

  “Nonsense, I have it on the highest authority. Now, I’ll leave you to your bath. Dinner should be ready in the great hall in about an hour. If you need help, just ask one of us.” Then, he turned on his heel and quietly shut the door.

  With a sigh, she sat down.

  The bath made her feel much better and by the time she was toweled off a quick look at the sky told her she still had a half an hour before dinner. She collapsed into the bed and soon fell into a light sleep. It seemed only
moments later that she woke up, somewhat refreshed after her little nap. She sat up and looked at the robe spread out beside her.

  It took her just a few minutes to put it on. She regarded herself in the mirror. The robes were simple, made up of a tunic with leggings underneath and long, flowing robes over top. The undergarments were white and the over garment was gray. It took her only a moment to fasten the silver brooch. The robes felt free and easy to move in.

  Once ready, she walked into the hall where she found a goblin waiting patiently for her.

  “Lady Luthiel, your place has been made. If you would please follow me?”

  She fell in behind the goblin who turned and hurried his way up the hall and down the two flights of stairs.

  Once there, she was greeted with the smiling faces of some fifty goblins. The lights on the wall were warm, but dim enough to allow the moons and stars to shine through the windows or the strange drifting globes on the ceiling. Everywhere goblins were eating, drinking, singing, playing instruments or telling tales. A steady flow of platters laden with food or bottles of wine came from the kitchen. The general hubbub was festive and she was quite surprised to see so many jovial goblins all in one place. They were usually dour and seeing them this way lightened her heart.

  Her guide led her to one of the long tables and sat her down on the right side of the sorcerer who rose and helped her into her chair. Aside from herself and the sorcerer, almost everyone else was goblin. Across from her sat two ladies whom the sorcerer introduced as Listelle loremaster of Lenidras and Aerdara huntress of Lenidras. A great white fen-hound named Grim sat beside Aerdara, saber-like tusks glittering in the dim light. The tall goblin to her right was Morjin armsmaster and Keltrin the minstrel sat beside him tuning his lulute. They had a refined air about them that oddly complimented their half-bald heads, gleaming eyes and hooked noses and she found herself immediately impressed by their grace and stature.

  A plate heaped with fruits, breads, cheeses, nuts, and vegetables of every variety was laid in front of her and she happily began eating.

  “Thank you so much!” she said with sincerity. It was the best meal she’d had since before First Summer’s Eve. The goblins and the sorcerer politely talked amongst themselves or engaged her in small talk as she ate. Plate after plate was offered to her and soon she was sampling pastries from one, tasty gum fruits from another and a delicious quiche from yet another. Soon she was stuffed and her ears were starting to feel warm from the wine.

  As the plates were taken away, Keltrin rose from his place, walked to a raised platform at the end of the hall and to loud clapping began to play a lively tune. Luthiel joined in the clapping as most of the goblins had left the table to dance.

  She watched on, clapped her hands and sang the chorus when she knew the words. Keltrin played for a while this way and then settled into softer music. The new song was in a tongue alien to her. But she couldn’t help but be caught up in its enchantment. The goblins who listened or sang along seemed to be holding the words in reverence.

  “What is it? What song is this?” she said, grabbing the arm of a passing goblin.

  “It is the Lay of the Lady of the Dark Wood,” he whispered with a bob of his head, then strode off before she could ask him any more questions.

  When the song was over, the wine stopped and one by one, the goblins started to leave. A cup of clear, honeyed water was placed in front of her and, presently, she found herself in the great hall alone with the sorcerer.

  “I’d thank you if I knew your name,” she said. “You’ve given me what you said you would—a nice place to rest after a hard road.”

  “Name? I am many things that are more or less than my name. For now, sorcerer will do. A sorcerer’s name has special significance you see. It should not be given freely, nor should it be taken lightly.

  “Your thanks are welcome all the same,” the sorcerer said. “It is my pleasure to give what I am able. I, too, understand the hardships of the road.” His eyes sparkled and his neatly brushed hair seemed to shine under the flir bug light. He had exchanged his blue robes for ones of midnight and gray the same style as hers except for the brooch which had a rippling border and depicted a large M rune in its center.

  “But let us talk about you first, Luthiel.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “How indeed? I could ask you the same question, how is it that I have come to know your name?”

  He paused and she sat uncomfortably.

  “A little help then?”

  She nodded, a bit confused.

  “Let me see your Wyrd Stone.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

  Involuntarily, she put her hand to where it hung at her neck.

  “Even if I had one, what would it have to do with you knowing my name?” she asked, pensively.

  “Everything,” he replied.

  “How did you–?”

  “How did I know? Well to some this kind of thing is obvious, no matter how well hidden.”

  He waited but she didn’t move.

  “So cautious, now, that you would not show me this thing, if only for a moment?” he asked. “Then you should be even more cautious when you use it. A Wyrd Stone can reveal many things. Where it takes you, dreams have power and nightmares take on life. When you touch that world, there are those with eyes to see, ears to hear, and minds to know a great deal about one who stumbles about in the dark shining a bright light and making such loud noises!” His eyes held a harsh edge to them, but then they softened. “You are not so unlike those that came before you. But you must be careful! There are things in this world and the other that are better left undisturbed.”

  His words awakened a fear within her as she recalled the terrible shadow in the sky. What was it? Was it still searching for her? Could the sorcerer tell her? He seemed very wise. Again, Luthiel struggled with herself. What if the sorcerer’s kindness was faked? What if he wanted to take her Stone? But again, her desire for help and friendship finally won out.

  “I think it is too late,” Luthiel said in a hushed voice. “I saw a shadow in the sky. It kept getting closer, as if it were searching for me. It made me feel—cold.”

  The sorcerer nodded and steepled his fingers. “The dark moon has a will and sight all its own. It is now a creature of the enemy. Count yourself lucky that you didn’t use the Stone a day earlier. Then, beneath its black face, you would have surely been discovered. For though the enemy sleeps in this world, in the other, he is awake and alert—the black lord of nightmares.”

  “The enemy?” Luthiel asked. “I thought the enemy was defeated long ago.”

  “If you mean the Vyrl, then you are mistaken. Their king is long dead and even he was only a lieutenant to the great enemy. But if you thought of Gorthar the great, then you were wrong only in thinking that he was wholly overcome. Though cast down, he still lives. Now, he lies sleeping on the black moon where he fell so long ago, dreaming strange dreams.”

  “I—I didn’t know,” she croaked. To her people, the black moon was a mystery no one understood and myths of the ancient enemy were seldom told and less often believed.

  “Have the elves so easily forgotten the elder days?” the sorcerer asked.

  “We are not as old as the elves of Ithilden and they keep their secrets. What we know, we know only by myth,” she replied.

  The sorcerer’s eyes flashed and he stood, slamming his fist into the table. “If the elves weren’t so busy staring at their feet they would realize what it is that hangs in the sky above their heads! Oesha never knew winter before the black moon rose! And the day may soon arrive when summer won’t come back!” Luthiel jumped, rapping her chair against the floor. She began wishing that she hadn’t stayed. This sorcerer seemed to have gone mad. She turned her eyes to the doors and windows wondering what her chances were of getting out without the sorcerer stopping her.

  But as quickly as the rage came upon the sorcerer, it subsided. He
drew a long breath and sat slowly back into his chair.

  “Luthiel, I am sorry. I am not angry with you. You are blameless. My ire is for those who know better and still do nothing. There are few who will listen to such black news coming from this old fool of a sorcerer. I doubt there are many even in Ithilden who still believe that Gorthar lives. And those that do have grown complacent.”

  As she watched him, it seemed as though a great weight settled upon his shoulders. Seeing this, she felt a pang of pity for him. Reaching a hand across the table, she laid it over his.

  “Though I can see your cares,” she said, tracing the gentle lines of his hand. “You don’t look so old to me.”

  He picked her hand up, squeezed it and laid it back on the table in front of her. His smile returned but the sad look was still in his eyes. “I am far older than even my cares may tell,” he said.

  She looked away from him. “I don’t understand everything you’re talking about. And what I do understand of it, I wish I didn’t,” she said. “It is hard to hear.”

  “There are many things I would change now that I cannot,” he said. “So I ask you to take what advice I have and then be very careful. There is a reason why many of the sister Stones to the one you possess have disappeared. We live in a time when the dreaming lord of the dark moon holds sway over many creatures on Oesha. It is a mystery how this has happened. It started with only a few feeble shadows. Then the fell races began to spring up.

  “Luthiel, unlike those that went before you, you do not have the luxury to make big mistakes. You should only use this gift when you have great need.”

  “I didn’t know what would happen when I used it. I was terrified,” she said. Her hand clutched tighter around the Stone. “It was a gift from my sister. She made a song.” A flash of pride swelled through her as she remembered. “Besides, there was nothing else I could do. I’d do it again if I had to.”

  “Really?” the sorcerer chuckled. “Are you so certain? Or are you too afraid?”