Luthiel's Song: The War of Mists

by Robert Marston Fannéy

  “How experienced are you?”

  “Not very. I’m best with a knife or faewand,” she replied.

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. “A luneblade would be better for someone of your build.” Without warning he spun at her, bringing his practice sword around in an arc that made the air hiss. She was taken completely unawares. Her practice sword was held point down in her right hand, which was also her bad hand. She didn’t have time to reposition, by reflex, she lifted her practice sword to block. She never made it in time. Vanye’s sword pounded against her forearm making it sting with pain. Without the pads, a loud crack would have reported through the woods. Now the sword made only a muffled thud. She flinched at the pain. But the Blade Dancer wasn’t finished, with flick of his wrists the practice sword had switched direction and was whistling toward her legs. She lowered the point and pivoted. Thud! This time her block worked.

  Did I actually do it? she thought.

  Unable to retaliate because of the speed with which each blow fell, she jumped, shifted, and danced to block each one. After about a minute, Vanye stopped.

  “See what I mean?” he said. “Holding it back hand is natural for you.”

  She nodded and wiped the sweat from her lip.

  “You’re tall with long arms and a deceptively slight frame,” Vanye continued. “If you keep the blade backhand, it brings your opponent closer and increases the likelihood he will overstep.” He grabbed her sword wrist. His hand was there before she knew he’d moved. Firmly, but gently, he guided her hand in an arc. “Your speed and reach make for a vicious counter. Attack by making arcs, whip strikes, or by a back hand thrust.” He demonstrated each attack with a new motion. “Now let’s try it full speed.”

  Full speed? She’d barely had time to think before Vanye’s sword was hissing through the air again. She did manage the first block but the force of Vanye’s blow left her arm numb and the second blow caught her across the chest, toppling her onto her back. The air rushed from her lungs in an explosion. She gasped for breath. The tip of Vanye’s practice sword lowered, hovering over her neck.

  “So what interest do you have with Leowin?” There it was, sudden and straight as an arrow flies on a windless day.

  She gasped a couple more times before she was finally able to form words.

  “I saw her looking at me, if that’s what you mean. I’m not interested.” The tip of Vanye’s practice sword lowered and he helped her stand. Then, he began lazily swinging at her. He wasn’t moving fast at all. But somehow, he managed to keep her on the defensive despite his seemingly slow swings. She felt embarrassed—like a child being tossed around by a grown up for fun. She prided herself on her speed. But it did little good when matched against Vanye’s efficiency.

  “She’s very lovely,” he said as he brought a blow down on her that would have split her skull—sword padding or no.

  “I thought Blade Dancers weren’t supposed to fall in love,” she gasped. Both her hands stung terribly. How can he put so much force behind his blows? He looks strong, certainly, but it feels like I’m fending off a tree trunk!

  “Happens from time to time. It’ll ruin your li then you’ll go insane as the Wyrd tears you apart from the inside out.” He swung again and this time her practice sword did break. His sword continued and knocked her sideways. She fell to the ground, did a somersault, then sprang up. I’ll be lucky if I’m not torn apart by this sword practice. Her hands smarted and she shook them to ease the sting. Vanye grabbed another practice sword that was leaning against a tree and handed it to her.

  “Does it happen to everyone?”

  “Not Zalos, Valkire and Tuorlin. Here, relax your hand a bit.” He moved her hand to a place on the hilt that felt much more comfortable. “Keep your wrist loose. When the blow falls let it give a little and then do the same with the rest of your body.”

  “Only three?”

  “Slim chances.” Vanye’s sword lunged deceptively at her face, then, as she countered, slipped by her guard and raked her ribs. But she blocked two more blows and managed a counter attack. She gritted her teeth against the pain as she fended off more of the Blade Dancer’s awesome blows. He was moving faster now and more of his strikes were finding flesh. Each blow stung enough that she knew it would leave an angry bruise. If it keeps up for much longer, he’ll beat me to death.

  “I’ve thought about it and am no longer worried,” he said between sword strikes. “Come what will, I’m happy to have felt love.” His face got a strange look to it. “Luthiel would understand.”

  Two successive blows knocked her off her feet once more. She came up with her lip bloody. She spat on the ground. The punishment was really starting to make her angry. She was being whipped around like a rag doll and Vanye hadn’t even broken a sweat. She stayed on her knees for a few moments while she caught her breath.

  “I understand,” she growled through clenched teeth. The odd thing was, despite her anger, she did. She couldn’t imagine how lonely and terrible a Blade Dancer’s life must be. “Always fighting. Never knowing love or companionship. It’s a wonder you don’t all go mad.”

  With those words, she sprang to her feet and whipped her sword at Vanye. She attacked time after time, doing her best to hold onto her practice sword as Vanye delivered block followed by bone-jarring block. Vanye countered and she began to feel as though she were about to be tossed through the air again. Then, she saw something that made her smile. She angled her practice sword so that Vanye’s blade went over her head. For a moment, he was exposed. She made a quick slash at his open side. Vanye saw or sensed what had happened and sprang back. In an instant he was out of reach.

  Luthiel felt her heart sink. “You’re just too fast,” she growled in exasperation.

  Vanye stood still, dropped the point of his sword and raised his hand. He stared at it. “You touched me,” he said. The words were direct and without wonder. But the way he turned his arm you’d think he’d discovered treasure. “That hasn’t happened with a new trainee in two years.” His eyes lifted, appraising her again. “You’re quick.” He lowered himself and delivered a series of strikes so fast she couldn’t see them at all and had to rely entirely on intuition. The first one she blocked but the second two stung her arms and the last one hit her throat.

  She fell to her knees wheezing for air.

  Vanye came over, knelt beside her and massaged her neck. In a few heartbeats, air was flowing again. Finally she was able to speak.

  “You’re not treating me rough because of Leowin? If so, maybe I need another practice partner.”

  Vanye looked at the ground and let out a laugh. “Perhaps. It did make me angry. But I feel less that way now after we’ve spoken. It’s more Mithorden. He said to give you a tough lesson.”

  Luthiel nodded. “I hope the rest aren’t so bad.”

  For the first time since she’d been with him that day, Vanye grinned. “It only gets worse.”

  Spiders and Mists

  He led her back to the tree and handed her some Yewstaff fruit, then left her alone to eat. She smiled as the coolness swept through her, mending her hurts. She’d almost finished her meal when she noticed a small group of rats in front of her. They’d sifted through the grass, poking out long, twitching noses. Heads, bodies, and feet followed. They sat in front of her, bringing their little hands up to their faces and making gestures as if washing. Then, from behind them, a large, white rat came forward. He carried an aelberry in his teeth. The fruit was full and round—bursting with ripeness. He brought it directly in front of Luthiel, and then, in an almost dainty motion, placed it on a smooth rock. He sat back, making the same washing gesture with his paws. Luthiel looked at the fruit. Despite herself, she smiled at the rats. She loved ripe aelberry. Could they have brought it for her? Dropping her hand, she slowly picked up the berry and brought it to her mouth. When the juice touched her tongue its taste was perfection. She savored the berry, taking little bites to make it last. All too soon, the berry
was gone. Still the rats sat before her, small eyes twinkling in the moons’ light.

  “Thank you my little friends,” she whispered to them. Suddenly, the rats became agitated. Their whiskers twitched and they crouched close to the ground—small bodies trembling in fright. With one last look at her, they bounded into the grass.

  What a strange and wonderful thing! she thought, still tasting the aelberry on her tongue. Her skin prickled and she noticed a slight breeze disturbing the still air. Looking skyward, she saw a mercury body born aloft by a pair of rainbow wings threading its way toward her through the moonbeams.

  “Melkion!” she cried. “You missed it! Vanye nearly killed me.”

  “Hssst!” the dragon replied as he alighted on a low-hanging branch. “No time for joking! I need to talk to the lords now!” Then he froze. A still had settled over the wood. Moonlight fell through the crooked shadows. Over the hillside she saw a swaying as long arms of mist reached down into the camp. Melkion spread his wings wide, feeling the slight movements of air with their sensitive membrane. His tongue slipped out, tasting the wind. “I’m too late,” he said finally. “They’re here.”

  Luthiel fell into a crouch and rushed to gather her things.

  “Here? Now?” she asked as she buckled on her sword-belt and slung her quiver. “Where could they come from?”

  Melkion craned his head, peering into the darkness. “With the mists!” he hissed. “I can feel them around us.”

  Luthiel scanned the darkness. “I don’t see anything.”

  “They’re masters of stealth. They’ve even come upon dragons unaware. See them? Look to the mists!”

  Luthiel’s eye peeled back the darkness and she saw places about the camp where the mists had formed into pools. In one, she thought she saw a spider flexing its legs. Her skin quivered. The thing was easily within jumping distance. She started to run.

  “They’ll see us!” Melkion hissed, and he was off, flying through the air beside her.

  “Better we who know than those who do not.” Without a thought she drew Weiryendel, holding it backhand as Vanye had instructed. It hummed through the air as she ran, giving her an odd sense of comfort despite the coming trouble. When she neared the center of camp, she held her hand high and sang out—

  Lumen! Unmask, illume, reveal!

  The Wyrd came to her easy as breath this time and her hand erupted in a flower of light. A thousand rays seemed to shoot out and each one found a Widdershae, outlining it in a brief silvery glow. They were everywhere throughout the camp. Those that saw them stared in shock. Luthiel was fast to follow up.

  “To me! To me!” she shouted, waving her still-glowing hand as a signal.

  In camp, the force had made guard and fortification. A full half stood alert with weapons at the ready. They formed a rough circle with sword and spear on the outside, archers and horse to the center. More archers perched in trees along with rookeries of eagle, hawk, and pixie. Bear and wolf Tyndomiel prowled both in and along the outskirts of this woodland fortress. Small groups of Blade Dancers roamed through the camp, talking to captains and checking to see if the positions were secure. Only the goblins were belligerent and many had simply dropped to the ground and fallen asleep then and there. The exception was a small group of Red-Caps who stood away from their fellows and whispered among themselves of dark dealing and betrayal.

  That the spiders had slipped into the faerie host was no small feat. Some may think it bad luck that Tuorlin had chosen this time to rest—sitting eyes closed and back to a great tree. But the spiders had sent their scouts to climb to the very tops of the highest trees. From there, ugly eyes could see far and it was easy for the long-legged things to swing out to other tree-tops for a better view. In this way, they had watched the elves move, using their strange Wyrd to stay hidden. If Tuorlin had flown with the pixies he would have seen the danger. But, land-bound, even his great sight was limited. For he could not see through miles of leaf or wood. On his return flight, Melkion saw the spiders moving in. So he flew ahead of the Khoraz and Firewing to warn Luthiel and the Lords.

  At Luthiel’s light, both forces stood frozen—taken by surprise. Spiders readying to pounce were suddenly revealed, rimmed in an eerie glow. There were many—nearly one for every two fae inside the camp—and more had gathered about it. Most had long shadow threads stretched between their forelimbs. They appeared ready to snatch away fully half of the faerie host and scamper off into the darkness. But they were caught! Seeing what the spiders were about to do, the fae let out a cry of anger and leapt into battle.

  All fell into a bloody chaos. A rain of arrows, javelins, and fiery sparks fell where the spiders had gathered into large groups. Cat-o-Fae sang through the air and came away wet with spider blood. Blade Dancers were not far behind and they came together in front of Luthiel before sweeping into the spiders with violence. But the spiders were still the more ready to fight and many snatched up the nearest fae in a shadow web before springing outside the ring. Still others fought directly with the fae in a great melee. Soon the bodies of both fae and spider lay on the ground.

  It happened as suddenly as everything else. But it was the thing that stuck most in Luthiel’s mind after. For the goblins, as one, stood, picked up their gear and walked through the spiders. The spiders let them pass, rasping with shrill laughter as they did. All except the Red-Caps, who broke from the fleeing goblins with a yell and fell pell-mell on the spiders, biting through legs and bodies like land-bound piranha. Some elves shouted in anger and a volley of arrows left a score of the goblins dead before they slipped away into the wood and out of danger.

  So, in a few moments, nearly a third of their force was lost.

  Thrar Taurmori watched them go and his burning eyes seemed to laugh with the spiders. The elves of Rimwold had retreated to him and fought only those spiders that came near enough to threaten but, for the moment, gave no more than token aid to the larger force.

  A great rage began to build in her. Around her, foot soldiers had gathered and many of them looked to her for word. Melkion perched on her shoulder and the fire rimming his mouth reflected her anger. A light grew above them and Luthiel realized the Firewing had come. Melkion launched into the air with a cry and flew with them—the fires of his mouth adding to their wing flames.

  Raising Weiryendel she let out a visceral cry and charged into the largest group of spiders. She’d seen Othalas and Mithorden coming with a force of cavalry but she couldn’t wait and watch any longer. In her rush to the spiders, she drew her Cauthrim knife. So with a blade in each hand she met them. At first they attacked her with glee, thinking her easy prey. But she blocked any fang, claw, or leg-blade with Weiryendel. The edge was so fine it cut through all it touched—flesh, metal or bone—with equal ease. Soon, her attackers found themselves missing teeth and limbs—their weapons cloven in half. Through the gaps, she thrust the smoking knife and soon their bodies burned as well.

  All near her were inspired by her fury. They saw an angel of vengeance fighting beside them. And, one by one, her foes fell and the force before them wavered in fear. Overhead, the Firewing shot down like a gale of flame touching the spiders and setting hundreds alight. Melkion was with them shooting lines of fire into the faces of spider after spider. Soon, ten lay on the ground, their heads burning. Inspired, the fae followed her and drove deep into the spiders. Though she defeated many, she was untouched by gore, for those she slew seemed to wither to dust or fell with strange silver cuts instead of scars and balled in upon themselves in a death-like sleep.

  Othalas, Mithorden, Tuorlin and a large group of riders charged into the spiders’ flank. Mithorden was shouting something to Luthiel but she couldn’t hear it through her rage and the din of battle.

  The combined onslaught was too much for the spiders. Their force broke and they fled. The elves paused, but she urged them on with a yell. Her frenzy fed by memories of elves dangling, then eaten.

  Never again. Never again. Never again.

>   It became a chant in her head and kept her moving long after as her limbs grew numb with exhaustion.

  In her mind, she felt she must do everything she could to keep the fae from being taken again. But already hundreds had been snatched. So the fires of her rage grew—fed by desperation.

  “We must defeat them now and hunt down each straggler till every captured fae is saved!” she shouted to the elves around her. The words seemed to spread her fury on to the elves and with a cry they ran after the spiders. They passed outside the camp’s protective ring and under the overhanging shadow webs. The cavalry stopped but Othalas and Mithorden rushed on, still shouting something Luthiel couldn’t hear.

  It was then that the trap was sprung. The spiders before them stopped and were suddenly joined by hundreds more of their fellows. Then, with uncanny coordination, they each drew a shadow from the air and flung it. Spiders were also above them and from everywhere the webs fell on her. She cut them with Weiryendel. But there were too many and soon she became hopelessly tangled, and finally buried. She tried to hack with her sword but her hand was pinned and she had to work her wrists and fingers to get the blade moving. It only had one edge. So she could only move it so far in a certain direction before she had to spin it around and work it the other way. The Cauthrim knife was even slower. It wouldn’t cut the shadow webs, but the hot metal did slowly burn through. After short-lived thrashing she set about the slow and careful work of cutting herself free.

  Separated from everyone else, she could only hear what followed. With their hero and all around suddenly caught in a mass of shadow webs, the faerie charge wilted. She could hear calls of ‘retreat!’ and ‘fall back!’ through the cold press of shadows. All around her, other elves groaned as they tried to breathe through the dark mass or stay warm. The shadow seemed to suck heat from even the small patches of flesh it touched and leave the rest of her body trembling. If there were any light, she was certain her breath would have misted.