Luthiel's Song: The War of Mists

by Robert Marston Fannéy

  “Have you seen Melkion?” she called to the crow.

  “With Mithorden! He’s spending all his fires burning spiders. He hates them!”

  Luthiel nodded. It was something she’d never wondered about before. But Melkion did seem to have something personal against the spiders. She laughed silently to herself.

  As do I. But my anger comes from seeing my kind poisoned, tortured, eaten.

  Did Melkion have such a sense of kinship with elves? How could he having served the Vyrl so long?

  Seems more personal.

  Luthiel mused about the dragon as she sprang but was unable to puzzle out the little Dragon’s rage. She left it and turned to other matters.

  “And Vanye?”

  “Fights like a demon. He leads the other Blade Dancers. They fight to defend Tuorlin. Spiders have nearly killed him twice.”

  “You mentioned demons. What of Thrar Taurmori?”

  “Rimwold fights if it must.”

  Luthiel gave a grim laugh as she jumped to the next branch. “Their goblins deserted. He and his elves may as well have done the same.”

  “They wait.”

  Luthiel didn’t have to wonder much about what for. Even she realized what the demon Faelord might gain in Tuorlin’s death and Ithilden and Minonowe’s weakening. “The spiders let the goblins pass. It’s treason.”

  “Thrar remains. His captains betrayed him—he’ll say.”

  Luthiel frowned. She didn’t like this business with the Faelords. It seemed a rotten union. Ashiroth and Rimwold were busy playing empire and seemed ready to throw the rest of the Faelands to the spiders in order to increase their power.

  After what Zalos did to Vaelros, should I be surprised? And yet, tonight, all may rest on him and his wolfriders. The more she thought about it, the less she liked it. The war against the Vyrl was some thing of vengeance. The spiders would have let them pass to fight the Vyrl and then fallen upon both armies after they had broken themselves—one against the other. There would have been little left of either army and the spiders would have been fattened both by the feasting and in numbers through Saurlolth’s mastery of the mists.

  Could Zalos have planned it? But her thoughts returned to her Dreaming and she knew it must be so.

  Then how can I trust him to act honorably now?

  She neither spoke nor thought through the rest of the journey. She would do what she must to help the elves. She felt caring for them as one might feel toward extended family. And even though she now knew she wasn’t one of them she loved them deeply and, strangely, felt responsible.

  It was with these thoughts drifting through her mind that she came upon the oddest assembly of creatures she’d ever encountered.

  The birds were the first to see her and hundreds—from the tiniest flitswa to the greatest eagle—flew to join her. There were thousands more, and she could barely see the sky through the thick of them. It didn’t take long for the other animals to notice her arrival and, of these, Othalas was the first.

  Upon seeing her, he let out a great howl and the wolves about him—a hundred other werewolves, all great and terrible, but none so great as he—picked up the call. Then the bears growled and the great cats roared—ligers and tipards nearly as big as the werewolves. All the other creatures paused, some of them resting on their haunches as they watched her descend from the trees.

  Othalas padded up to greet her with a bow.

  “All of wilddom has come to aid you, Lady,” he said with a formality she was unused to. But her Stone was afire now and the lights about her head gleamed bright as stars. In her left hand Weiryendel sang with lights and rainbows. Her disguise cast aside, she looked in every part a great Faelord, if not something greater.

  At his bow, all the other creatures bowed as well. There was a hush and Luthiel’s breath caught when she saw love plain in the animals’ eyes.

  Oh what have I done to earn it? I, who would hunt them and eat them? With animals bowing before her, she recalled Mithorden and his principles and she wondered if he had the right of it. For she saw in each of these creatures great heart and spirit even to the tiniest among them.

  They all love life and will fight for it as I have.

  She did not need to speak. It was as though the animals heard her thoughts and gave silent affirmation.

  “We are ready to help you!” Othalas growled. “All you need do is give the word.”

  “Then the word is forward! I would save as many elves as possible. Will you follow me!!??”

  The responding roar made the wind in the trees seem a whisper by comparison. Even the Glimflirs seemed to glow brighter.

  “The wild has answered,” Othalas growled.

  Luthiel sprang to his back and the Senasarab gathered with the host. Othalas gave them only one questioning glance. But knowing they were with Luthiel was enough. Now was not the time for questions. That would come later. The wolf was built for action and this was the time for it. Woe to the Spider who stood before him or threatened his mistress.

  With a final howl, he was off through the woods, the great horde of woodland creatures surging in behind him.

  Zalos’ Choice

  Upon Othalas’ back, she rushed through the wood. Light spilled from her Stone, making all seem to sway and waver. Even the animals looked like a great pack of spirits rushing through the woods. Trees flashed by as the animals ran or flew beside and above her. Werewolves were intermixed with native wolves and foxes. Badgers ran with porcupine and hedgehogs. There were faenmare, and Luthiel even saw one unicorn. The air was filled with birds of every kind. But borne aloft on the hot summer air, Glimflirs rose up above them, making the sky shimmer with a million false stars. A great wind was howling, fanning the trees, running ahead of Oerin’s dawn.

  Othalas found a low spot, making a riverbed his road. They ran along, masked by hill, tree, and rushing wind. But the cloud of Glimflirs must have made a disturbing spectacle as it grew and loomed over the spiders. Two of the rear-guard twittered uneasily as the cloud drew near. The plan hadn’t gone quite right and though the elves were losing, this night’s events made them want to slip off into the shadows. Too many had felt the bite of faerie sword, arrow, and Wyrd. Many more lay burned to ash. Now the wood was filled with strange sounds. It made them long for the mountains—the shadowed valleys no sunlight could touch. They’d caught enough to last for a good while and the greedy, lazy, spiders were ready for a feasting well away from the struggle. Were it not for her they’d be gone in a moment. But the Spider Queen was not to be argued with. So the spiders held tight to the tree limbs and quivered in anticipation of what dawn might bring.

  Less than a mile away, a desperate struggle was taking place. The elves had fought their way to the hills. The spiders threatened to overwhelm them. Again and again they were thrown back. The battle raged on the ground and in the trees. The air was filled with birds and pixies on the wing.

  Saurlolth sensed the changes. The Vyrl were coming. Beasts were gathering. Luthiel’s magic was at work. Were it not for her, the battle would be won. The elves—slaves and food.

  A group of least Widdershae lined before her. There were about three hundred in all. Quivering legs seemed barely able to hold up the awkward bodies. Once elves, now no better than slaves. With her approach, they gave a collective moan. The only part of them still elfin—two eyes—showed hate. But fear kept them better than any chain. Whatever courage they’d once possessed was broken by the long days of dangling poisoned, of listening to their kindred cry out as they were eaten, the terrible transformation and then the abuse. You or I might think that at least one would show courage and put up a fight. But neither you nor I have suffered as they, and even we have born witness in silence to lesser ills under less dire threat. Yet, in the face of evil, to sit silent is an even greater evil. Complacency is ever the enabler of darkest deeds; so it was with the Widdershae who once were elves. Though they didn’t realize it, had they acted at that moment, they could have saved a
great many lives. But the moment passed and with it any chance for heroism.

  Dumb with terror, they watched Saurlolth wave her gangrel forelimbs in wicked ritual. Metal screamed and sparked. Dark Wyrd rose in answer. Cracks began in the ground at her legs and shot out toward the spiders. Though terrified, they were unable to move. Their fear of Saurlolth held them fast. The cracks drew nearer. Smoke spilled from the openings. The ground bulged. A hissing as from a hundred snakes filled the air. Then, out sprang red worms. They were large—as long as an arm. And the air around them smoked with the heat of their bodies. They surged forward, fiery mouths questing. Still the Widdershae couldn’t move. Fear had overcome them. Rather than giving them the will to fight or flee, it crushed their spirit, leaving only panic and disbelief. They could no more move than they had will. And the will had left them days ago. So clumsy as the fireworms seemed, they met no resistance. They were slithering over the earth. They were arching up, reaching for the spider’s underbellies. Then, they were burrowing through shell and flesh. Shrieks filled the night.

  The worms worked in and, as they did, strange magic took hold of the Widder. Cracks gaped in their shells. A poisonous reek belched out. It filled the air with venom. And its merest touch was enough to make a man bleed. The undershells cracked too and great bags hung out. They ballooned and squelched—working like a bellows. Poison filled the air.

  The night was filled with the gasps and moans, the awful cracking, the reek of poison and of searing flesh. The Widder convulsed, driven insane from the pain of it all. Their eyes dulled to red as the fire began to burn them.

  “Tuorlin!” The great spider shrieked. “Kill him and it will end!”

  As mad as any poor creature burning from the inside out may be, the least Widder flooded down the hill in a rush, drowning all about them in a cloud that ate flesh. All who tried to stand before them fell in the dire charge. Even Blade Dancers were forced to flee. But Vanye called on his fellows and they set their Cat-o-Fae upon the surging spiders. Together, the archers shot into the mad Widder. But neither arrow nor blade did much to slow them. The deadly hurt was already done. All that remained of life was pain and a terrible need. Only Mithorden and Melkion seemed unharmed by the poison. The Sorcerer flashed like lightning through them—striking again and again. Where he passed, spiders fell. Melkion flew behind—burning out their eyes. Yet he and the dragon were like pebbles tossed into a raging tide. It flooded around them and up the hill toward the High Lord.

  The other Widdershae gathered for one last rush. The charge had left the elves in disarray. Before they could recover, Saurlolth meant to finish them.

  It was as the spiders gathered for a final strike that two things happened.

  The first was a charge of grendilo, wights and giants. The wood rumbled with great blasts of Ahmberen’s horn and with the footsteps of Gormtoth. Norengar, tall as trees, lead a charge of giants. Vaelros sat upon a great steed of the Vale, its twin horns gleaming in the light of Oerin’s Eye. Behind him came Grendilo. Elshael led the wights and the terror of their eyeless faces even made the Widdershae tremble. Fresh Firewing and Khoraz filled the sky. So the left side of the spider force faltered and many were drawn away from the charge. But it was still too few.

  Then Luthiel appeared from out of the wood.

  Borne upon the back of Othalas, the Wyrd light surrounded her. It danced about her and Othalas like a ring of silver flame. In her left hand she held Weiryendel and in her right Methar Anduel. They gleamed brightest—twin beacons casting their light up against the clouds. Lesser lights like small stars ringed her head and all around her Glimflir lifted up like rivers to the stars. The first dim rays of Oerin’s Eye seemed pale and wan by comparison. Beneath her light, the werewolf stood out blacker than the corners of night. His yellow eyes were the only lights visible in that darkness. With thousands of beasts behind them, they fell like a tide upon the spiders’ rear.

  Such was the spectacle that elf and spider, Vyrl and grendilo, faerie and goblin all stood stunned. The battle seemed to sigh and the great lady rode through the gap. Only the tortured Widder rushed on, desperate in their need to reach the High Lord. The animals surged over the spiders in a great swarm. Even the tiniest mice joined the fight. They surged in, searching for a tender spot. But she drew Othalas up short. For she saw the Widder scrambling madly toward the High Lord with murder in their eyes.

  Two hundred yards away, Zalos brought his line of wolfriders to a halt. They lowered lances and bore fang. They were ready for the charge. But Zalos held his hand high, waiting. A few Gruagach gasped at the sight of Luthiel and some made the sign of Soelee against evil.

  “It’s the witch. She’s here.” The whisper passed swiftly among the Gruagach. Zalos scowled. The prophecy was coming to pass—but in disturbing and unexpected ways. This night had brought far too many surprises and now it seemed possible that his most careful plans would come to nothing. But the war to rule must be won. For not long after, the greater war—the war to survive—would come. And everything, all of Zalos’ plans and effort for hundreds of years, was bent on winning it.

  As if a herald to Zalos’ thought, Oerin dawned on a day wet with blood. First light was always painful for the Faelord. Thorns bit. Fire burned. More than anything, the pain was his discipline. It sharpened him. Gave him rage. Beat him into a deadly shape. He must watch and wait. If he committed now, he would turn the tide and Lord Tuorlin would be saved. So he stood his ground.

  Luthiel saw the mad Widder in her dream sight. She saw the terrible worms that burned through them, filling their guts with fire, poison, and pain. She saw them rushing up the hill to overwhelm the High Lord. She saw the Widder and animals all about her fighting and dying. Even Thrar Taurmori was fighting but she guessed this was because the spiders in their madness were lashing at all around them.

  She cast about. But there was nothing, no way for her to reach the High Lord in time. And then she saw them, a thousand wolfriders standing in a line before the field—waiting. Zalos stood at their head with his hand held high poised to give the order but holding it. Here was the rescue. Here was the High Lord’s hope. And it rested on a thousand Wolfriders with Zalos to lead them.

  Luthiel didn’t hesitate. With a yell to Othalas, she was riding toward them. A group of animals and Senasarab, who acted as honor guard, broke off to follow her. She held her sword and Stone high and as she came close, she sang out all the louder. Her song filled the air and when it reached the wolfriders’ ears they seemed to fall under enchantment.

  Blood of sap and flesh of wood

  Brothers of great Ashiroth

  Give your aid now, it is time

  To heal the hurts to pay the cost

  Of bitter deeds done in the dark,

  For power’s sake and on to woe

  But choose right now and it will break

  Upon the back of this our foe

  The Widdershae and others too

  Shadows in a greater game

  A shade that comes to each and all

  Mortal child and elf to claim

  With violence for the world is full

  Of larger things than you and I

  That violence sets us man ’gainst man

  Burns the earth and breaks the sky

  It draws a sack-cloth over day

  As suns go out then all are slain

  A world made barren—nothing left

  Only the ice rime will remain

  But you may end it here today

  You may save the great High Lord

  You may turn our path away

  From a road that’s paved with swords

  I sing a song that you should know

  Since Zalos shamed me in a dream

  And set the blame upon my back

  For a thing that he would bring

  Come with me now—save the High Lord

  Free his life and all his land

  For the victory of death is no victory at all

  Only woe for each
woman and man.

  Her spell reached out, spreading over his force with a light and power that touched even the hardest Gruagach heart. The words had flowed through her like a river. She hardly understood them. It was as if some deeper dream had taken hold of her. The wolves heard her loudest and a few raised cry to this queen of beasts who rode out on the greatest of all wolves. Seeing them waver, she let out a final cry singing out—“Wolfriders! To me!! The High Lord Tuorlin!!” And with a faith in her Wyrd born of her long struggle to save her sister, to survive the Vyrl and to forge an alliance between Vyrl and elf, she turned to lead them up the hill.

  With a grim smile on his face, Zalos watched them go. The display had shocked him. For this was High Wyrd and Luthiel had slipped into the deep dreams that touched all things. He would as soon stand against such a force as he would an avalanche. But Zalos was wily, for he knew the hearts of Ashiroth’s kin and the other deep dreams that had taken hold there. The dreams he began to lay so long ago. No, he would not face the magic of a Valkire again, he would let it break itself on forces far greater and deeper running than the truth Luthiel revealed. For there were deeper and uglier truths at work. So he stood firm and held his hand high. The command itself was enough to keep much of his force. But a full third broke rank to follow the Witch. Another third struggled to regain control of their wolves who fought hard to follow her. But, in the end, rider won out and the hard training and discipline of the pack set in. The wolves looked to Zalos and knew him the alpha.

  Zalos almost smiled as he watched her go, leading a third of his force to save Tuorlin. It might have been enough. He turned to his riders.