Luthiel's Song: The War of Mists

by Robert Marston Fannéy

  “What happened to the mists?” Melkion hissed in her ear.

  Luthiel looked around her. They were gone.

  “Don’t know. They were here just a moment ago,” she said. Her eyes scanned the darkness. “Strange. Can’t see them at all.” Webs hung everywhere—tree to tree, rock to rock, crag to ground and in thick patches over the earth. Now and then, she noticed lights shining far off. Yet they reminded her more of the Vale’s lights than spider eyes.

  “Mithorden?” she whispered past Vaelros.

  “Yes?” The sorcerer spoke without taking his eyes from the path. He seemed in deep concentration.

  “Where are the mists?”

  The silence carried on for a few heartbeats.

  “I’m not sure,” he said finally.

  “Look at that patch of webs along the ground.” It was Ecthellien who spoke this time. “See, beneath the denser webs?”

  They all stopped, scanning the darkness near their feet. Luthiel saw nothing but more shadow webs. Then, just as she was about to give up, she noticed it. Below the webs lay a dark fog.

  “It’s in there,” she whispered.

  “Spider Wyrd,” Vaelros hissed. His voice sounded distant. His face grew tight and his eyes glazed.

  He’s remembering, she thought. It hurts him.

  “They’re gathering the mists,” he continued.

  “You knew about it?” Othalas growled.

  “They’ve used mists before.”

  “What for?” Luthiel said. She grabbed Vaelros by the arm and pulled him closer, forcing him to look at her directly.

  He blinked his eyes and then shook his head as though coming out of a stupor.

  “I only remembered it just now,” he said through lips blue as though with cold. He put a hand to his head as if straining to remember. “How were they used? I just can’t recall.”

  Luthiel trembled. She met eyes with the sorcerer. He frowned at her. Then he gripped Vaelros on the shoulder.

  “Enough for now,” he said.

  Vaelros looked at the sorcerer and lifted a hand to his eyes. He let out a long sigh.

  “Let’s get moving,” he said.

  Mithorden nodded and continued on through the shadows.

  Luthiel squeezed Vaelros’ hand. He turned around. This time his eyes were clear. In them—concentration, anger. The pain of a moment before now gone.

  She sighed. Though she didn’t believe it possible, with each step, the darkness deepened until she was reminded of mid-winter when stars grow dim and moons have color but give no light. For the first time, she began to doubt.

  What if Mithorden was right?

  She looked over her shoulder to Ecthellien, but the Vyrl just shook his head.

  Luthiel was so lost in worry she didn’t notice they’d stopped. She walked headlong into Vaelros, pushing him into Mithorden. The sorcerer shot an angry look at Luthiel as he leaned back hard—inches from a web. Slowly, he drew away.

  “Cunning weaver,” he whispered. When he was a safe distance back, he sat down.

  “What are you doing?” Luthiel whispered.

  “Looking for a clear path,” Mithorden replied. “It seems all ways are blocked. A little light would do us good. But it’s certain to bring spiders.”

  Luthiel let out a fearful breath. She could no longer see webs—only darkness. But she imagined them strewn about in mad tangles. She shivered. When she drew her cloak close, she noticed ice crystals in the weave. She wanted nothing more than to turn back. Beneath the shadows, she despaired of ever seeing sky again or walking free on the untainted grass. The stuff beneath her feet was dry as straw.

  Vaelros squeezed her hand.

  “You all right?” he whispered.

  “It’s the webs—they’re getting to me.”

  “Me too,” he said with a nervous smile.

  “I feel like running fast and far. All the same, I’m terrified to move,” she said. “I can’t even see them all. Can you?”

  He shook his head. “Hope he can,” he said with a jerk of his head toward Mithorden.

  Mithorden sat on the log for what seemed like hours, staring into the deeper shadows. Finally, with a shake of his head, he stood and walked toward Luthiel.

  “I cannot find a clear path,” he said.

  “What now?” Luthiel whispered.

  “As far as I know we only have two choices. The first is we go back and try the way to Cauthraus.”

  At that moment, in that dim and colorless place, her fear of the Red Moon seemed far away. She felt a strong urge to leave, to abandon these mad webs and face whatever danger it held for her.

  Anything is better than this. We are like flies in a maze of spider webs.

  “What’s the other choice?” she whispered.

  “You have the sword?” he asked.

  “I do,” she replied.

  “Well, you could use it to cut a path for us.”

  “Weiryendel will cut the shadow webs?” she asked.

  “I told you it might,” Melkion hissed in her ear.

  “I haven’t seen it,” Mithorden replied. “Nor have I known a thing Aeowinar couldn’t cut.”

  “But won’t breaking webs alert the spiders?” she said, remembering Melkion’s warning.

  “There’s a danger it will,” Mithorden said.

  “Do you think we should press on?” she asked.

  “I leave it to you,” he said.

  Luthiel’s heart quailed, but despite her fear, she drew Weiryendel. The blade sang as it cleared her scabbard and tiny lights seemed to gleam in its glass-like crystal. Just this morning those flecks had turned to suns. Now they were like motes that drift through water and only shimmer when the light hits them. A sound like breaking whispered around her. With it came the new sound—the bright music. Melkion crouched beside her, staring at the blade. There was a look in his eyes she couldn’t read. She felt protective, thinking that the dragon coveted it as dragons covet all precious things. Melkion swung his head toward hers and looked into her eyes. His jaws unhinged as if he were about to say something. Then they snapped shut and he looked away.

  Shaking her head, she wrapped her hand tight around Weiryendel’s white and silver hilt. Lifting it, she held the new sword before her eyes. Calling it a sword wasn’t quite right. It looked more like a big knife. But to her mind, it was a sword—fresh and keen as on the day of its first making. She thought also of the other pieces that lay secreted in her pouch and of what terrible things must happen for them to be added. It was enough to make her hand tremble. Eighteen inches of crystal blade rose from that curving hilt. In the darkness, it seemed to gleam with a clear light. Staring at its tiny stars, an odd feeling came over her as she was suddenly reminded of Vyrl’s eyes.

  I wonder if they have something to do with Valkire? His magic?

  She looked closer at those barely visible sparks. But she dare not use the Wyrd Stone—even though its light would be as welcome as a coat filled with warmly buzzing flir bugs on a deep winter’s night.

  “There’s more than enough to do the trick,” she whispered, and brandished the little sword. “Let’s try it. Which way to the Rim?”

  “The dragon’s eyes are keen,” Mithorden said. “Let him guide you.”

  Melkion pointed toward the deeper shadows. “The Rim is that way.”

  Wrapping her hand tightly around Weiryendel’s hilt, she walked into the gloom.

  “Careful now,” Melkion hissed. “Go slow and I will show you.”

  Luthiel took one step and then another.

  “Stop,” the dragon said.

  He pointed with his tail.

  “There, do you see it?”

  Luthiel focused her eyes on the space just beyond the tip of Melkion’s tail. Nothing. Just darkness. She kept staring, holding the sword up next to Melkion’s tail. A thin shade slightly darker than the gloom beyond slowly became visible.

  She slashed it.

  The crystal blade sliced through air and shado
w with equal ease. For a moment, it seemed as though nothing had happened. Then the shadow parted like a ribbon sliced in two. It fell. It faded. And just before it struck ground it disappeared.

  Luthiel breathed deep and took a few steps forward before slashing to clear the path again.

  With Mithorden and Melkion guiding her, she sliced through the webs. The blade sang as it parted shadow and seemed to give a self-satisfied hum at the end of each swing. As she made her way deeper her relief slowly changed to fear. Some of the webs held mists. Soon they filled the air making it even more difficult to see. She dared not even breathe as she picked her way over animal carcasses and through mounds of spider spoor. Further and deeper she cut as the shadows grew and her tiny pool of light seemed about to be swallowed up.

  Sometimes when she cut a shadow it would cling to her before fading. In those moments, she feared she was trapped. But the blade was true and no more than two cuts were needed for a strand. She concentrated on clearing the path, on making it large enough for Othalas, and on moving where Melkion and Mithorden guided. She’d lost all sense of direction and her only reassurance was the sorcerer’s hand on her back and the dragon’s voice in her ear. Then, she cut through a web and it fell away, leaving only black openness behind.

  It took Luthiel’s eyes a moment to adjust; for even elves and angels have difficulty seeing in utter darkness. Through the small opening, she could see shadow webs bending into a spiral—forming a great chamber that tapered into blackness. To Luthiel, it seemed she stared down a well and into a place that had lost all memory of light.

  They made this in only a few days, she thought in dread.

  It is said there are passes in the Drakken Spur, Ecthellien thought, miles upon miles like this. No light has touched the earth there for three hundred years.

  Luthiel didn’t know why at first, but she felt as though she were staring into a place of death and pain. Her eyes caught glimpses of wicked shapes hovering among bundles of shadow.

  Melkion hissed softly and her sword gave off a low, angry, ringing as it vibrated against her palm.

  Slowly, her eyes rolled back the shadows and she began to see them—spiders among bodies hanging in the darkness. It was terrible. It was something she didn’t want to see.

  She jerked her head away. But it was too late, the vision had burned itself into her mind.

  “What did you see?” Mithorden whispered.

  “You were right,” Luthiel said. “We should never have come this way.”

  “Tell me!” Mithorden insisted.

  Unable to speak, or even look, Luthiel grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward. Vaelros scrabbled up behind him.

  They stood staring in silence.

  “This is what they would do to us all,” Mithorden whispered.

  Luthiel still couldn’t look. It was too terrible.

  “You may as well see them,” Melkion said. “Turning away doesn’t change what’s happened.”

  She nodded. Slowly, she raised her head.

  There in that warren of shadow, strung up by the webs, were hundreds of elves. Those she could see were covered with blood. It filled their mouths till they choked, oozed from their skin in angry splotches, or seeped from their eyes, gumming them until they turned black. A few had burst and all that remained were dripping shreds of skin and pieces of bone.

  There were spiders among them.

  She could see one creeping toward an elf along a thin strand of shadow. As it approached, it unhinged its mouth and from out of it came a long, dripping tooth. The elf screamed as it drove the tooth into her body and began to devour her. A hissing sound issued from out of the spider. All the while, the elf’s cries continued—slowly growing fainter and shriller. Then, the cries ended and an awful silence fell. The spider dumped the sagging bag of skin and bones that remained and made its way to another body.

  Luthiel reeled and fell to her knees. She retched but nothing came up. Behind her, she could hear Othalas’ low, feral growl. Melkion hissed and blew smoke. Mithorden gripped the hilt of his sword, eyebrows lowered in anger. Vaelros held a hand over his face and even Ecthellien looked troubled.

  Her heartbeat pounded so loud she could hear it in her ears. She was at once enraged and terrified. Gathering her legs beneath her, she slid Weiryendel into its scabbard and lifted her bow. Her quiver was guiding an arrow to her hand before Mithorden noticed what she was doing.

  “Luthiel! They’ll see us!” he whispered.

  “I can’t let them do it,” she said quietly as she notched the arrow.

  The spider had reached another elf and was wrapping its legs about him. She drew the arrow. Mithorden put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Do you think you can kill them all?” he said in a low voice. “For every one you see, there are at least ten more hidden away. You’d bring every one to us.”

  Luthiel aimed. The bow trembled. The spider unhinged its jaws. A tear ran down her face.

  “I know how you must feel. But even if we could fight off every spider, the best we could give most of these elves is comfort and a swift death. Some might live, but most are already dead.”

  She let the bow drop slowly and turned her face away. Then the screaming began again.

  Luthiel couldn’t help herself. Tears of rage streamed down her face. That elf could have been a friend. It could have even been Leowin or Winowe. She wanted nothing more than to kill the terrible creatures. It made her question the vow she made just this morning. She shook her head against the thought. No. This is wrong. Such cruel things don’t deserve life. All the tales of ruin she’d heard the night before came rushing back. She wondered if this is what happened to those who lived on Eledweil. She had the sinking feeling it was worse.

  She turned her face to Ecthellien.

  You were with Ingolith? she thought.

  He nodded.

  Were they like this?

  He stood silent.

  How could you be a part of it!?

  I was mad, and very sick.

  “I’ll kill them if I can,” she whispered, motioning through the narrow opening toward the Widdershae. There was a coldness in her voice she couldn’t recognize. “If you ever do something like it, I’ll kill you too.”

  The lights in Ecthellien’s eyes swirled and then it was he who looked away. “I cannot change what I did,” he said softly.

  “Then you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to make amends,” she snapped.

  “Luthiel, what are you doing?” Melkion hissed. “Standing here bickering will end us up with them.” He pointed at the dangling elves with the tip of his tail. “Let’s get out of here.” His tail swished back and forth in agitation. Tiny blue flames rimmed the corners of his mouth and flickered in his nose. She’d never seen him so agitated. But, for the moment, her rage was far greater than her fear.

  “We have to fight them sometime,” she said.

  “Now would be suicide,” the dragon hissed. He seemed distracted. His head swung back and forth, eyes staring into the darkness. “They’re close,” he whispered. “Let’s leave while we still can.”

  Mithorden and Vaelros both laid hands on her shoulders.

  “You’re right to be angry,” Mithorden whispered. “But remember what we’re trying to do.”

  Vaelros’ hand tightened.

  “Once we have the elves with us,” he said, “then we can deal with these spiders.”

  Slowly, she returned both bow and arrow to her quiver. The wooden hands quietly put each in its proper place. She drew her arm across her eyes to clear the tears. Then, grudgingly, she nodded.

  “We’d better start now,” she said softly. “I don’t want to stay in this larder one moment more than I must.”

  She pulled her hood over her head and was about to slip into the black chamber when there was a tremor in the shadow webs.

  The Wyrd of Saurlolth

  “What was that?” she whispered.

  Melkion stared at the webs. Mithorden gazed i
nto the darkness at the chamber’s far end.

  The webs trembled again, this time jerking urgently.

  “We stayed too long,” Mithorden said.

  Then, from the blackness at the chamber’s end, there came two loud shrieks.

  “KAAAAREEK!”

  “KAAAAREEK!”

  A chill wind blew down the chamber, through the small opening, and into her face. Clusters of lights appeared in the blackness and from it emerged two great spider legs, each the size of a small tree. Coming after the legs was a vast, pointed head, lit by clusters of eyes. Two were larger than the rest, green glowing and almond-shaped. Where ears might have been, a pair of spines protruded from its head. The body was a polished black beginning with the rounded point of a head, then narrowing into an hourglass waist before bulging again into a crescent abdomen. The forelegs tapered into tips like swords. It took Luthiel a moment to realize that, by some art, the great spider had fastened these weapons to itself. The black swords each ended in a barb and glistened with venom.

  After it emerged from the darkness, it stopped, crossed the sword blades, then rubbed them together.

  “KAAAAREEK!”

  “KAAAAREEK!”

  “It’s Saurlolth!” Melkion hissed. “Queen of the Widdershae.”

  In a great rush the Widdershae surrounded their queen. There were hundreds and they came from everywhere. Some dropped down from the webs above. Others sprang out of burrows. Still others slipped out of the shadows.

  “She’s calling them for something,” Vaelros said.

  Then Luthiel saw ten elves hanging at the warren’s center. Saurlolth stopped beneath them. Widdershae crowded close. Beneath Saurlolth were large bundles of shadow web and jagged symbols were on the ground in a ring around her. From what Luthiel could tell, they were the runes of her language—broken beyond her ability to understand. Something about their crookedness made her head ache. She turned away in disgust when she realized the symbols were made of bones, entrails, and caked blood.

  Luthiel could feel the anger rising again. She guessed something even more terrible was about to happen. But she also knew now Mithorden was right. There was no way their tiny band could stop the hundreds of spiders gathered here. So Luthiel swallowed her anger and watched in horror as Saurlolth raised her forelimbs to scratch the air.