Lachlei

by M. H. Bonham

  Lachlei strode away from the fire, wanting to be alone. Her sorrow now turned to anger — whatever had killed Fialan was evil, that much she was certain of. She looked into the sky to see the moons rise slowly above the horizon. Tomah and Iamar rose, followed by a third moon, Mani. She stared at the golden moon in amazement. Mani often was the portent of great and terrible things.

  Her hand strayed to her side and brushed against the sword hilt. She had sheathed Fyren, her husband’s blade earlier, not thinking. Lachlei now drew the blade and held it upward towards the moon. The smoke from the pyre drifted overhead, turning the moon blood red.

  Rhyn’athel, she spoke silently. Great god of warriors, hear me! By the blood that burns in the Lochvaur veins, by the blood that burns in my veins, grant me the power to find the evil that killed Fialan, your champion. By my blood, I will avenge you, Fialan, even at the cost of my own life. Lachlei brandished the sword and for a moment, the great sword glowed.

  Lachlei turned around, resolve in her face. She gazed at the pyre. “You will be avenged, my Fialan. And may the gods have no pity on the one who did this to you.”

  CHAPTER Six

  Rhyn’athel stared at the Chi’lan woman who stood in the moonlight, her face filled with anger and resolve. Even angry, she was beautiful — she rivaled the beauty of the eight goddesses.

  “This — is Lachlei?” he asked. Rhyn’athel turned towards Ni’yah, but found he could not tear his gaze from her. Lachlei was a true Chi’lan, athletic and powerful, and yet her beauty…

  “She is rather pretty, isn’t she?” Ni’yah said wryly, his brass eyes gleaming. “I thought you might like her.”

  Rhyn’athel continued to stare at Lachlei, entranced. Suddenly, the Truce meant nothing to him. Rhyn’athel had forgotten how long it had been since he had been in Elren. How much he loved the world and the Eleion. And how much he had fought to stay away from it.

  Lachlei brought back those old emotions. Emotions Rhyn’athel had long buried inside him for the sake of the Truce. Emotions he could not afford to have, and yet still did. The god continued to stare at her. Lachlei was a creature of light. He could sense the power within her — the power that belied her mortality.

  He wanted her.

  “How long has it been since you were with a woman?” the wolf-god asked. “Two thousand years, I’d wager — maybe longer. Not since the Truce, certainly…”

  The remarks snapped Rhyn’athel out of his reverie and he wheeled on his brother. “You knew this would happen.”

  “Not, exactly…”

  “You’ve just complicated matters.”

  “I always do,” Ni’yah agreed. He paused and became serious. “Listen, I would wager half my powers that Areyn Sehduk killed Fialan. I saw your champion die, my brother, and nothing should have been able to hold Fialan’s powers back, save a god. Fialan was the strongest champion you’ve had since Lochvaur, and his powers equaled most godlings.”

  Rhyn’athel reluctantly turned his gaze from Lachlei to his brother. He nodded. “That is true — Fialan was powerful.”

  “The bodies stink of Areyn’s magic,” Ni’yah replied. “Even Lachlei can feel it, but she doesn’t recognize it because she’s never been up against Areyn. I have.”

  “What would you have me do? Destroy the Truce? It will start another war bloodier than the last. And to what purpose, Ni’yah? I can’t kill Areyn anymore than he can destroy me.”

  “The problems with being immortal,” Ni’yah remarked dryly.

  “We would raze the Nine Worlds,” Rhyn’athel said. “Everything you see here and now would be gone…”

  “Lachlei has sworn blood vengeance,” Ni’yah said.

  Silence ensued.

  “I know. I heard her,” Rhyn’athel replied.

  Another silence followed.

  “Lachlei will not rest until she avenges Fialan’s death or is dead.”

  “What would you have me do?” Rhyn’athel snapped. He turned around and crossed his arms.

  “She’ll be lost to Areyn Sehduk if you do nothing,” Ni’yah replied.

  “We don’t know Areyn killed Fialan.”

  “Yes, we do, but you won’t admit it,” Ni’yah replied. “The sword Lachlei carries is Fialan’s. Fialan blooded it on Areyn before Areyn killed him.”

  Rhyn’athel turned around with a fierce gleam in his eyes. “He did? I’m glad to see Fialan gave Areyn something to think about.”

  “Indeed and no doubt Fialan is paying for that boldness in Areyn’s realm,” Ni’yah said. “But, the proof you seek is on the blade.”

  “Indeed,” Rhyn’athel said. His gaze lingered on Lachlei. She had sheathed the sword and now sat cross-legged on the grass, looking into the night’s sky. He could hear her thoughts and feel her underlying power as she stared at the stars. How had he overlooked her? he wondered. Perhaps he had been afraid.

  The thought amused the god, but there was some validity. Had Rhyn’athel paid more attention to Lachlei, he might have been tempted to enter the Fifth World — as he was doing so now. If Areyn Sehduk learned of the transgression — however minor, Areyn would use that as an excuse to raze this world. He would destroy the Eleion as he had destroyed the others that had occupied the worlds he took — in favor of his own twisted creations. The Eleion would be no more, nor would their descendants, the Ansgar, hope to survive under Areyn’s reign. Areyn ruled the dead as well — taking away Rhyn’athel’s warriors as he had done with Fialan.

  Rhyn’athel’s gaze lingered on Lachlei. To allow her to die — to be taken from him until the end of time — was unbearable. Rhyn’athel turned his gaze inward, using the Sight to look into the future…

  “Brother?”

  Rhyn’athel’s silver eyes had glazed over. They now snapped back to attention, and he stared at Ni’yah. Resolution within them told Ni’yah that Rhyn’athel had seen something the wolf-god could not. “You meddler!” he growled and with that, Rhyn’athel vanished, leaving Ni’yah bemused.

  *****

  “By Rhyn’athel’s sword!” Cara swore. “What is happening to our people?” The daughter of Silvain stood under the stars with the few warriors who were loyal to her. Twenty Silren warriors had agreed to meet in the rolling plains, far from the silver fortress to debate the turn of events. They had ridden their horses under the night’s sky until they reached a small hillock called Silwar.

  Silwar had been an old temple or shrine to Elisila, one of the goddesses of light and the goddess of the Silren and Elesil. The ruins had been there longer than Cara remembered — indeed, it had been there before the Truce. The Fyr had destroyed life throughout the Nine Worlds, but it did not destroy everything from the earlier times. The warriors dismounted and sat amid the broken stones and Cara stood before them.

  “I wouldn’t say that too loudly, Commander,” Haukel remarked. “Silvain would have our heads if he knew there were followers of the warrior god amidst his kindred.”

  “I am his daughter,” Cara replied brusquely. “His only heir.”

  “I don’t even think that will save us, if Silvain finds out,” a woman warrior named Tora spoke. “Gods protect us, but there is something wrong with Akwel.”

  “You noticed that too?” Cara remarked and glanced at the others for confirmation. There was a murmur of consensus. “Akwel and I have never been friends, but I sense something is terribly wrong. To go against the Chi’lan warriors is folly.”

  “But what can we do?” Haukel said, his hands outstretched in a helpless gesture. “Rhyn’athel knows Silvain won’t listen to reason.”

  Cara met his gaze. “He may listen to me,” she said. “I am his only heir.”

  “Too risky,” Haukel replied. “There are too many warriors against us. As Akwel grows in power, he will have your father’s ear.”

  “Then, we’d better act now,” Cara remarked. “Before it’s too late.”

  “No, we can’t risk you,” Haukel said. The Silren broke into arguing.

 
; “Enough!” spoke Cara, causing the warriors to fall silent. “I alone will speak to Silvain, though I may risk exile because of it. I am his only heir, and that may stop him from having me put to death as a traitor.”

  “If he exiles you, what then?” Haukel asked.

  Cara shook her head, her pale blue eyes filled with worry. “I don’t know, Haukel. I don’t know.”

  CHAPTER Seven

  Lachlei walked from the quietness of the hill. She didn’t want to leave — for the first time, she had felt close to the warrior god. Fialan had often told her that Rhyn’athel held the Lochvaur and especially the Chi’lan in the highest regard, but she had never felt the closeness to Rhyn’athel that Fialan felt. Fialan’s power, he had said, came from Rhyn’athel, himself.

  As Lachlei turned to gaze at the dying flames of the pyre, she couldn’t help but wonder what went wrong. Why had the warrior god failed Fialan at this last moment? What creature was powerful enough to destroy a Chi’lan champion? She drew the sword, Fyren, again and gazed on the darkened blade, but did not use her powers for fear of the same reaction. Something vile had killed Fialan. Something vile that bled, she thought darkly.

  If it could bleed, it could die.

  She sheathed the sword again. Lachlei had heard of vile creatures from Areyn’s realm. Demons capable of destroying lives. The Lochvaur had fought against such creatures in the times before the Truce between Areyn Sehduk and Rhyn’athel. Maybe there was one left in this world.

  But the wars between the gods happened over two thousand years before. Would a demon be lurking within the Shadow Mountains all these many years without the Lochvaur knowing of it? Somehow, she thought it unlikely.

  “Lachlei!”

  Lachlei turned to see Cahal and Kellachan striding towards her.

  Cahal’s face shown with worry. “We’ve been looking for you,” he said.

  She smiled. “I’m sorry, Cahal, but I needed some time alone,” she said.

  He nodded. “I understand — but you shouldn’t be without your guard.”

  She sighed. “Cahal, I don’t need a guard any longer. I am not in power…”

  The two men exchanged glances. “You will be,” said Kellachan quietly. “The Council has voted unanimously that you remain queen until they decide on challengers.”

  Lachlei stared. “How? Who nominated me? Didn’t you tell them…” Her voice trailed off. “Gods! Kellachan!” she swore, her eyes glowing with anger. “You didn’t tell them!”

  “No, I didn’t,” Kellachan said quietly. “But I didn’t nominate you. Laewynd did. No one else contested, and no one else was nominated.”

  “I wasn’t consulted!”

  “Lachlei,” Kellachan said. “Who else is there?”

  “There’s you,” Lachlei said, but the words sounded false, even to her ears. “You’re first-blood…”

  “I have no power,” Kellachan replied. “You know this — you and your son are the last of Lochvaur’s true heirs.” He paused. “Before you married Fialan, you were the greatest Chi’lan warrior we’d seen in many centuries…”

  “Fialan was,” she stated.

  “You were equals,” Kellachan said. “You simply deferred to Fialan because you loved him…”

  Lachlei stared at her cousin, shocked at his words. “How dare you!” she snarled when she found her voice. “Fialan is barely dead and you mock his memory!” She turned and stormed off.

  “Lachlei!” Kellachan began, but Cahal gripped the Chi’lan’s shoulder.

  “Wait. Let me talk to her,” Cahal said.

  Kellachan nodded. “Make sure she’s ok — we don’t need anything to happen to her.”

  Cahal nodded and followed her. “Lachlei!”

  “Leave me alone, Cahal,” she said, turning around.

  “Wait — hear me out,” Cahal said. “Lachlei — the Chi’lan are leaderless. Without a strong first-blood, the Lochvaur will be vulnerable to the other kindreds.”

  “I don’t want the throne.”

  “Then, all the more reason you should be our queen in the interim,” Cahal said. “You won’t abuse the power.”

  Lachlei shook her head. “Cahal, I can’t…”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not the warrior Fialan was — there’s never been a woman champion,” Lachlei said.

  “Perhaps it’s time there was one,” Cahal replied. “We have always had women Chi’lan — why not a champion? Until the Council chooses a champion, or until one wins in trial by combat, you’re the only one who can keep the Lochvaur together.”

  “Trial by combat? A champion hasn’t been chosen like that in centuries.”

  “Maybe they should — that’s how Rhyn’athel chose his champions in earlier times.”

  Lachlei smiled wryly, wiping her eyes. “Don’t tell me you believe in those old stories?”

  “Why not?” Cahal said with a shrug. “I do believe that I am looking at his next champion.”

  “I’m sure others have something to say about that.”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “Let’s go. Your warriors await you.”

  CHAPTER Eight

  The weeks that followed were difficult for Lachlei. With her appointment to queen in the interim, she had to rule the Lochvaur and perform her duties as Chi’lan as well. Laewynd, the head of the High Council, seemed content to take over her administrative duties, and for that Lachlei was thankful. Yet, as each day passed, something began to gnaw on her.

  Perhaps it had been the method of Fialan’s death that left her uneasy. Perhaps it was the Sight. Rumors abounded of a massing of armies in the North. The Silren, it was said, were on the move. But, the Elesil and Redel were also gathering, and Lachlei suspected that the Lochvaur might have to defend their lands. Lachlei found herself riding outside of the Caer Lochvaren’s gates more often to clear her mind. She began to detest the confining walls now, seeking the solace of the mountains or the windswept plains.

  “Scouts have returned from North Marches,” Cahal said as Lachlei rode beside him outside of Caer Lochvaren. Despite her protestations, Cahal refused to allow her to travel alone. “The news is not good.”

  “The Silren?” Lachlei asked.

  “There are signs that the Silren are massing. For what, we can’t be certain.”

  Lachlei said nothing. Instead, she looked ahead. They were riding in the foothills of the Lochvaren Mountains, not far from the hill where Fialan’s pyre had been. The aspen and birch were beginning to change color now — brilliant gold and fire red against the conifers. The path was well-traveled; it made its way through a cleft and wound its way deep into the mountains.

  It had been a month since Fialan’s pyre had lit the sky above Caer Lochvaren, and still nothing had been decided. The High Council had not appointed a king, and there were rumors of an impending war.

  “Lachlei?” Cahal asked. He had become used to her moodiness, knowing well that she thought constantly about Fialan in her sojourns.

  “Laewynd assures me that we have naught to fear,” Lachlei replied heavily. “The army isn’t mine to command…”

  “What of the Chi’lan?” demanded Cahal. “They are your guard.”

  “Two thousand,” Lachlei replied heavily. “Two thousand against the Silren and Elesil armies? Even though we are Chi’lan, it will be a slaughter. Laewynd assures me that something will be done if the Lochvaur are attacked.”

  “Laewynd,” Cahal spat. “A disgrace to the Chi’lan if there was one.”

  “He is our oldest and most experienced warrior,” Lachlei said.

  “Laewynd is a coward,” Cahal replied. “He became Chi’lan to become a member of the High Council — nothing more. He is no warrior.”

  Lachlei smiled slightly at his outburst. “Fialan thought he was useful.”

  “Fialan knew how to use the Council,” Cahal said. “He didn’t let Laewynd get his way. How old is he? Five hundred years, if a day.”

  Lachlei chuckled. “He did avoid the Chi’lan�
��s early death,” she admitted. “But you can hardly blame him. I have no desire to meet the death god, either.”

  Cahal shrugged. “None of us do, Lachlei, but we are still Chi’lan and bound to serve the warrior god. I see none of that loyalty to Rhyn’athel. I only see ambition.”

  “As do I,” Lachlei admitted. “But Laewynd is happy to work behind the scenes — not take power. That is his way, Cahal. Laewynd is the High Council, and the High Council is Laewynd. I must work with him if I am to have the army.”

  Cahal shook his head. The late afternoon sun was already behind the mountains and the shadows were long. “We should be heading back, my queen,” he said. “It will soon be nightfall.”

  Lachlei nodded, feeling tired. “Indeed,” she said. “I’m sorry I’m a disappointment to the Chi’lan,” she said softly as they rode side-by-side.

  “Disappointment?” Cahal asked sharply. “Why do you say that?”

  “I can see it in my warriors’ eyes,” she said. “I let the Council make me queen for the interim because there was no one else, and yet, I feel powerless. I’m not the champion Fialan was.”

  Cahal smiled. “Maybe you should not try to be like Fialan,” he said. “Fialan was a great warrior, but you are not Fialan. Maybe Rhyn’athel has different plans for you.”

  Lachlei halted her horse and stared up at the hill overlooking Caer Lochvaren. They were at the base of the hill now. “Perhaps he does,” she said. She dismounted and handed him the reins. “I want to be alone for a while.”

  “I’ll wait,” he said knowingly. Lachlei nodded and walked up the hill.

  *****

  Rhyn’athel stared into the twin suns of Athelren; their golden glow bathed the world in warmth. It was springtime now in the high mountains where the warrior god’s shimmering white-walled fortress stood. Even on the fortress parapets, the drowsy smell of pine reached Rhyn’athel’s nostrils as he looked over his world.