At mention of the word—Gorothoth—a shadow seemed to fall over the already dark chambers. The Vyrl frowned and Melkion sharpened his claws. Even Norengar looked nervous—shifting his iron hammer from one hand to the other.
“Many of you were once its victims. But no longer! Now you have a chance to protect your last best hope—this seeming elf who is little more than a girl. So swear your silence until the day comes when she must be revealed.”
The Vyrl looked at each other. Luthiel could sense the half-thought question that passed between them. Then Ahmberen nodded.
“We swear,” they said in unison.
“I swear,” Vaelros followed.
Melkion, Othalas and even Gormtoth swore. Norengar grumbled but finally swore at Mithorden’s urging.
“You as well,” Mithorden said to her. “You cannot tell anyone, even your sister, you understand this?”
She nodded.
“I think I do,” she said reluctantly. “I swear not to give my true name or identity to anyone other than those who are here with me now.”
Though I don’t know what good it will do me. Zalos’ six champions may already have guessed who I am. She thought of her last encounter with them and trembled.
Mithorden let out a sigh.
“Good, good,” he said. “Now we may continue.” His voice softened as he walked toward her. Gently, he drew her from her chair and walked with her until they stood at the center of the hall.
“Now at last we come to you,” he said. “You know who you are, don’t you? After everything that’s happened?”
She cast her eyes downward for a moment. In that instant she thought of Methar Anduel, of the Cave of Painted Shadows, of how she freed the Vyrl and Vaelros, and of her conversation with Mithorden less than an hour ago. She didn’t understand so much of it. Of the magic or of the darkness. A part of her still stubbornly denied it. But there was too much evidence now to reject who she was. She didn’t need the Vyrl’s thoughts whispering in her mind to tell her.
“Yes, I know now,” she said with a smile to Mithorden. “You helped me remember?” she whispered to him.
Mithorden put a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Then tell them,” he said.
She took a deep breath and nodded again. She looked out across the room into the swirling eyes of the Vyrl, into Vaelros’ troubled yet happy eyes, into Melkion’s violet orbs and Othalas’ golden ones, into the giant king’s pine-green eyes and into Mithorden’s clear ones and finally into the flaming eyes of Gormtoth.
He knew, she thought. Except for the giant, they all knew. But at first I did not. Oh, Leowin! I hope I remember the myth right this time!
“I am the daughter of my mother and of my father too,” she said. It didn’t quite make sense, but it helped her to start talking.
“She is Merrin of Waves and he was Vlad Valkire,” she continued with more confidence. “She is Elohwe and the blue moon bears her name. He was the first man Valkyrie—son of the nameless lord of the Dark Forest and of Elwin the dark lady, blessed spirit of Oesha. Together, my father and mother broke the Tyranny of Dreams and freed the elves from the Vyrl.
“I am Luthiel Valkire.
“I am an orphan and I do not know my mother or my father—whose tomb I saw in the cave with shadows painted on the wall.”
The words made her sad but she did her best not to show it in front of those gathered before her. They sat or stood in silence, watching her. She could feel their eyes on her but she would not turn her face from them.
Mithorden patted her gently on the shoulder.
“Very well said,” he whispered to her. Then he faced those gathered in the hall.
“Many of us may have guessed this. But we must remain fully aware of who it is that stands in front of us and of the great risk both we and she must take. As she said, she is the child of Valkire. And she brings with her a hope that many of us thought had died long ago. It is a hope we must protect.”
He glanced at Vaelros.
“We would do well to follow this young lord’s example.
“The Vyrl have already made a pact with her, asking her to go to the lords that now stand, ready to do battle, just beyond the rim of the Vale. They would send her into great danger, risking even their newfound solace. Yet she has graciously promised to go and to try to turn the elves from a war that they are now resolved to fight. In this task, she must not fail.
“This council was called to discuss why. For the danger is more than just that presented by the armies surrounding this Vale. The real threat is hidden. But signs of it may be found in the actions leading up to this war and in many of the dark things that have happened throughout the age. It is this hidden danger that most concerns us. For it may become greater and more terrible than any trouble since the dawn of this age.
“And this council was called to discuss how. For we must have a plan or we will surely fail.”
He looked at them each in turn.
“Do you understand, fully, who it is that stands before you? And do you accept that we must now set aside all our differences and, if need be, follow her into great danger?”
Those assembled nodded.
“Good,” Mithorden said. “Now we may begin this council in earnest.”
Slowly, Luthiel and Mithorden returned to their seats at the table.
“Well, I suppose we should start with why?” Melkion said.
“Yes,” Othalas said. “Why is this danger here? Could the spiders that have crept into the Vale have caused it?”
“In this danger,” Mithorden said, “the spiders may play a part. But I do not think they are the reason for it.” His eyebrows were raised but he provided no other answer.
“Or is it the sudden fury of the elves?” Ahmberen said. “They have tolerated us for so long, it seems uncharacteristic of them to risk so many over so few of their kind.”
“The elves’ fury was warranted,” Mithorden said, “and long overdue. I do not think that they are the cause. But they are coming! Their anger has grown for centuries and now they come to deal punishment for their loss.”
“So are they all coming?” Luthiel asked. “All the armies of the Fae?”
“Yes, Luthiel,” Mithorden replied. “Himlolth and Ithilden, Rimwold and Minonowe, Ashiroth and Khargalast. Six armies of Fae stand beyond the rim and one of Widdershae is beneath it.”
Luthiel breathed out a sigh and shook her head in amazement.
“But what if they enter the Vale?” she asked “The mists would change them.” She remembered how the mists had almost changed her. “What would they become?”
“What indeed!” Mithorden said.
Norengar shifted his hammer on his lap.
“The sorcerer talks but he doesn’t give any answers, only more riddles. If you know the why of this danger, then why don’t you tell us?” The giant grumbled.
“I wanted to hear what you know first. True, I know some. But it is only part of the story. It is enough for me to be very concerned, mind you. But I don’t know everything. Nor can I confirm half the things that I have guessed. I was hoping that you would shed light on things by sharing your experiences.”
He looked at each face in the room.
“I think many of you here could shed light on something that has lain hidden for far too long. We should lay bare the identities and intentions of all our enemies if we are able to. Then, we may have a clearer understanding of why.”
His eyes turned to Vaelros.
“I think it would be best to start with you. As one of the Seven, I’m certain you have seen much that may help us understand our danger. Zalos was my student and I know he used the Wyrd as a means to gain power. I fear he has delved too deeply into the black arts.”
Then his eyes shifted to Othalas.
“Or, perhaps, it is best to start with you. You have traveled much—both in the woods of Ashiroth and upon the slopes of Ghul Shalar. What have your wolf eyes seen that we should know?”
Vaelros and Othalas exchanged glances.
“I will start,” Vaelros said. “Though it is not an easy thing for me to speak of Zalos or of my time as his captain.”
Luthiel quailed when she saw that hollow look cross over his face. But it was just a shadow of the thing that was killing him only a few days before. It passed like a thin cloud that momentarily blocks the sun but is then carried off by the wind. He looked at her and gave a wan smile. His left hand lifted to the bag that hung from a chain about his neck and encircled it.
“It is easiest for me to start at the beginning. For my memory of the middle years is fragmented and unreliable.
“Many years ago, my grandfather, Zalos, drove my father from the fortress at Rildenscol and banished him from Ashiroth. Zalos does this every few hundred years to keep the lords in line. As was his custom, Zalos offered me my father’s lordship. But I refused and resolved myself to go into exile with him.
“On the night before we left, I was visited in my dreams. A lady, both beautiful and terrible, came to me. She seemed so real. I can still remember her smell—earth and lilacs. In my dream, the lady took my flesh. She was consumed with unnatural fire. It burned through me, sinking into my bones till they ached with heat and exhaustion. The dream lasted all night and just before I awoke she took the chain which hung around her neck and fastened it to mine. Fastened to the chain was a black box with discolorations the shade of old blood. Within the box was a stone the color of pitch.
“When I awoke that morning, I was exhausted. It was as though I’d not slept at all. Even worse, the box was real.”
Vaelros stood and pulled something from the pouch at his belt. He tossed it onto the table where it rolled about like a dice before coming to rest on one of its faces. Luthiel recognized the black box.
“This is the box,” he said, staring at it a moment before he continued.
“As we traveled, I became sick with chills. I shivered so much I could barely stay atop my wolf. The cold seemed to come from the box. So I cast it off a high cliff into the sea. I saw it splash into the troubled water and sink like a stone. I thought I was done with it. But that night, I was visited again. When I awoke the next morning the box hung from my neck.
“This happened for many days. I would cast the box away, or bury it. One day I even tried to burn it. But each night the lady would return it to me and each morning I awoke to find the box slung from its chain on my neck. Then, one night, the dark lady told me the truth. She had slowly withered until that night it seemed I lay with a skeleton. Just before morning, she stopped riding me. Rolling over to her side and gripping me with her gaunt fingers, she said that she was the spirit within the Stone. Each night, as I slept, she was taking my life away. If I did her bidding, the leeching would be slow and I would live longer. If I fought her, the leeching process would quicken. But one day, sooner or later, my life would be spent. I would not die as men or elves do. Instead, I would linger on the borders between life and death—my body and spirit a vessel that she and her master would control. There was no escape. Suicide or death in battle would complete the process.
“From that point forward, I was completely beholden to the Stone’s compulsion.
“The first compulsion was to kill my father.
“It came as desire. I hated him and I thought, endlessly, of killing him.
“At first, despite the spirit’s warning, I fought these desires. For three nights, I forsook sleeping. For I knew that she was waiting to punish me with nightmares. But, on the fourth night, my strength failed and I slipped into sleep. The nightmares were even more terrible than I imagined. But I couldn’t awake to escape them. When my sleep finally ended, I felt cold and everything seemed dim to my eyes. Even though it was summer, I began to see the ghost of Gorothoth in the sky.
“Worse, the compulsion to kill my father became a pounding war-drum in my head.
“Finally, I could not fight any longer. When I gave in, drawing my sword, the relief was so great that I think I laughed out loud.
“I don’t remember much of it and I think I hesitated, for I suffered terrible wounds from both him and his guard. But a keening arose from the Stone and it cast a shadow as a torch might cast light. Beneath the Stone’s spell, I entered a world of nightmare where the air seemed to waver as though from a great heat and always the moon Gorothoth hung in the sky. When this happened, few things could harm me. Even if I was wounded, the Stone sustained me and I continued. These hurts, I think, sped me on toward the half-life.
“After I killed my father, the Stone compelled me to return to Ashiroth, where I became one of Zalos’ Seven. Each bore a Stone like the one I wore. Each had descended into the half-life. I was the only one that remained.
“It is with a sense of bitter irony, I think, that Zalos made me their captain. I could no more refuse him than I could refuse the Stone. And I guessed that it was he who made or found them.
“For many years, I bought my life with terrible deeds. Most, I cannot remember. Life and sleep blurred together. For as I slept, nightmares haunted me. Slowly, the nightmares crossed over into my waking thoughts. Eventually, I could no longer tell reality from a dream.
“My life was nearly spent when the lady Merrin came to me. To my eyes, it seemed as though she were robed in light and song. And by her song, the nightmares retreated. It made me feel more alive than I’d felt in many years. I had become so accustomed to the terror that its absence left me stunned and confused.
“But I was not the only one in danger. Even though Merrin was with child, Zalos held her as a prisoner in Arganoth for he wanted to make her one of his wives. I do not know how she possessed the presence of mind to recognize my condition. Nor do I know how she managed to slip beneath the watchful eyes of Zalos’ servants and heal me.
“But she did. My doom was delayed and I returned, for a time, to the world of the living. While she was near, the nightmares seemed far off. When my wits returned, I learned that she was using a bright Wyrd Stone to help me. She would come to me under the gentle darkness of night, sneaking into my chambers, and there, very quietly, she would sing to me.
“Later, she told me that she was overcoming the effects of the curse. Which she said was coming from my Wyrd Stone. For a time, there was hope. For she thought that if she could open the box, then she could break the enchantment that had turned the Stone to darkness. But even though I knew the words that would cause the box to open and grant her access to the Stone, I could not say them. The compulsion upon me was too strong and even Merrin could not overcome it.
“It was then that she showed me Methar Anduel. I do not know what art she used to hide it from Zalos for he was always searching. He did not suspect. He knew. Yet it was as though he was blinded either by her art or by some flaw within him. So even though he searched he never found Methar Anduel or Merrin’s own Stone Ethel Bereth.
“She told me that Methar Anduel was the greatest of the Wyrd Stones. Its magic could break my curse. Merrin could not use it. But the child that grew inside of her could. She told me to have hope and that she would not let me go over to darkness.
“During our time together, she taught me ways to resist the Stone and to extend my life even when we were apart.
“I still don’t understand why she helped me or what reason she would have to forgive my terrible deeds. I was a monster and yet she understood that I was also a victim.”
He looked into Luthiel’s eyes. The look was so intense that she had difficulty meeting his gaze. But she held it.
“You saw it too,” he whispered. He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes before continuing.
“Eventually, Zalos grew wise to my improving condition and, always suspicious of Merrin, he sent me away more and more often. The past few years I have spent without returning to Arganoth once. I think it was Zalos’ plan to let me slowly fail, even if it took a hundred years.
“Then, by happy accident, I was sent here on a
mission to lure the Vyrl into war. When I saw Luthiel, I was drawn to her. She reminded me so much of Merrin. And, somehow, she knew how to break both the Stone’s compulsion, for it would have had me kill her, and the curse.
“So now I am here. I hope that my service to Luthiel can, in part, make amends for all the evil I’ve done.”
For a long time, there was silence in the room.
Luthiel’s emotions were conflicted by the story. The terrible violation of the Stone and the doom he faced were things she had difficulty understanding. Still, she felt a deep sympathy for him.
Also, when Vaelros spoke of Merrin, Luthiel was captivated. She wanted to ask him a hundred questions –
What was her voice like?
What did she smell like?
Did she really look that much like her?
Yet the one thing that she came away with was an overpowering sense of anger at Zalos. It was so intense that she could not contain herself.
“How dare he!” she muttered.
Who is this Zalos? Why does he think that he can use people this way? Merrin suffers, Vaelros suffered, how many more?
But another part of her was afraid.
How could anyone challenge him?
She could sense the Vyrl’s minds but, for the moment, they were silent.
A Piece of a Shadow Crown
Mithorden was looking at Vaelros from his seat across the table. His eyes shifted to the black and blood colored box.
“You were very fortunate,” he said.
“I know,” Vaelros replied.
“Your tale bears out what I’ve feared for many years, but could never prove,” Mithorden said.
“And what did you fear?” Ecthellien asked.
“That Zalos was using the black arts to corrupt the Wyrd Stones. I do not know why or how. I certainly did not teach him to do such things,” Mithorden said. “But when I met Evaldris many years ago, I knew that something terrible was happening to him. There were dark things afoot in the black of his eyes. But at that time I could not guess its cause. Even later, as more joined Evaldris and I saw them ride to battle beneath a black cloud that seemed to lift off of them like smoke, I did not guess the true nature of their affliction.
Luthiel's Song: Dreams of the Ringed Vale Page 27
