Lachlei

by M. H. Bonham

  “Later,” she said, sliding out of her clothes. “You must please me first.”

  CHAPTER Twenty-One

  Lachlei stood on the hill overlooking Caer Lochvaren. The stars shone brightly overhead as the three moons, Tomah, Iamar, and Mani, crested the horizon. As it had been in ancient times, the Chi’lan now met to choose their ruler and champion. Her personal guard, Chi’lan warriors all, stood beside her. Over five hundred warriors, torches blazing, stood around Lachlei as she faced Laewynd. She was ready for combat.

  “Does anyone challenge the Lochvaur champion?” Laewynd spoke. He held a small circlet in both hands, awaiting a response.

  Silence ensued. Lachlei glanced at her Chi’lan. Rhyn stood beside her, as promised. One by one, she met the gazes of the warriors she thought capable of challenging her. Rhyn, Cahal, Tamar, Kellachan… One by one, the warriors shook their heads. Lachlei smiled. If none challenged her right, she would be Rhyn’athel’s champion and queen of the Lochvaur. She recalled how Fialan had taken the throne without a single challenge. None dared challenge what was Fialan’s right…

  “I challenge.”

  A voice broke her from her reverie, and she focused on the speaker. Murmurs ran through the Chi’lan — there had not been a challenger in over five hundred years. Lachlei turned to see Kieran from the High Council step forward.

  “I challenge her blood-right,” he said, his silver eyes narrowing.

  Lachlei met the man’s gaze. “You challenge me?” she asked. Despite Laewynd’s threats and her earlier fears, she had not expected a challenge — especially from one of the Council members. But Laewynd had not said the Council vote was unanimous. Indeed, it did not have to be — Fialan had won the crown through a simple majority.

  The thought of fighting another Chi’lan dismayed Lachlei. She now considered her opponent.

  Kieran was an older warrior, loyal to Fialan, but Lachlei knew little about him, save that he had been in Fialan’s guard. He wore an older-style scale hauberk and his broadsword was made from darkened steel. One eye was glass-blue — cloudy — from an injury sustained long ago. Kieran steeled his jaw as he spoke. “It is my right as Chi’lan,” he said. “Regardless of whether I am first-blood.”

  Lachlei glanced at Cahal, who nodded grimly. That was technically true — any Chi’lan had the right to challenge for kingship. She saw Rhyn’s eyes harden.

  “That is your right, Kieran,” she agreed. “But, I would ask you to reconsider.”

  “Does Fialan’s consort fear a fight?” the warrior replied. “Or has the trappings of royalty dulled your skills?”

  Murmurs ran through the Chi’lan. Lachlei smiled slightly. “No, but evidently my appointment has sharpened your tongue,” she replied. “I suspect it is sharper than your sword.”

  Laewynd stood between them. “Is this an official challenge?”

  Kieran drew his sword. “It is.”

  Laewynd looked at Lachlei. “Do you accept?”

  Lachlei drew Fyren. Cahal pulled her aside, concern in his eyes. “Lachlei,” he whispered. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Lachlei took a deep breath. It would be a fight to the death or unless a contender yielded. “Why is he challenging me?” she whispered back. “I thought the Chi’lan were all of one mind.”

  “Kieran challenges because of Laewynd,” Rhyn replied as he stood beside her. “He was the dissenting vote in the Council. There are those who believe you would be a pawn for the Council.”

  Lachlei frowned. “A pawn?” She met his gaze. “Do others believe that?”

  “Some,” admitted Cahal. “But I am not one of them.”

  Lachlei turned to Rhyn. “Do you believe that?”

  “I believe you will be Rhyn’athel’s champion,” the god replied. “I believe you are Chi’lan.”

  She met his steady gaze and smiled. “Yes,” she shouted so all could hear. “I accept the challenge!”

  Cheers ran through the crowd. She turned away, and felt Rhyn grip her arm.

  Kieran is blind in his left eye, Rhyn informed her in mindspeak. He’s very strong, but not as fast — use that to your advantage.

  Lachlei nodded. She crouched into a defensive position, holding Fyren ready. The warriors began to bang their weapons against their shields in time. Kieran dropped into a defensive position and they circled slowly, gauging each other. Lachlei kept her breathing measured. Time seemed to slow as she studied her adversary. Kieran was not only a seasoned warrior, but also much heavier and stronger. He had at least fifty pounds on her, and his height left her at a disadvantage. She would have to either hang back and wait for an opening or press her attack and risk taking a hit.

  She could see in Kieran’s good eye that he too was weighing potential strategies. He had her at a disadvantage, but he knew she was Chi’lan trained. He circled and feinted, trying to draw her in. Lachlei backed away slightly. She took another breath and focused now — the roar from the Chi’lan, the beating of the weapons, everything was gone, save she and Kieran.

  Without warning Kieran attacked. Lachlei parried and riposted, swinging Fyren around. Kieran parried again; the force of his blow jarred her arm. She slipped to his left side and swung Fyren. Kieran barely managed to parry the blow. Lachlei skittered out of range as he brought his own sword crashing down.

  She smiled inwardly. Rhyn was right. She nearly got a blow in on Kieran’s left. It meant he was vulnerable there. Kieran would also be more protective of that side, knowing his limitations.

  Before she could react, Kieran lunged at her, swinging his broadsword. Lachlei parried and attacked. Kieran countered. Lachlei took the full brunt of the blow on Fyren. The blow jarred her arm, threatening to numb it. She slipped inside, and Fyren twisted upward, cutting into Kieran’s arm.

  The Chi’lan warrior yelled and backed off as Fyren’s adamantine blade drew first blood just above the elbow. Lachlei followed, Chi’lan bloodlust in her eyes, as she swung the battle blade. Another cut, this time across the chest, but the scale armor held. Lachlei realized too late that Kieran had her where he wanted her.

  Kieran swung his own blade. Lachlei backed off as the blade hit her helm hard and bounced into her left shoulder, biting through mail. She felt the snap as the heavy sword broke her collarbone, and she screamed as the sword continued to bite in. The pain blinded and sickened her and she dropped to her knees.

  “Do you yield?” she heard a voice somewhere beyond the pain.

  Lachlei opened her eyes. She had dropped Fyren and was now on her hands and knees, leaning into her right hand to keep from collapsing to the ground.

  “Do you yield?” The voice came again.

  Lachlei closed her eyes again. Her mouth was dry and she could not speak. The pain was intense.

  You are first-blood. Is this how Rhyn’athel’s champion would die?

  Lachlei hesitated. She concentrated on the pain and found it lessening. Like all first-bloods, she could heal — but could she heal herself? She now focused on the wound.

  “Do you yield?”

  Silence ensued. The drumming stopped, and the warriors were silent.

  Lachlei continued to concentrate, and her shoulder became warm. The pain disappeared and she could feel the bone begin to knit.

  You are first-blood.

  Lachlei raised her head and met Kieran’s gaze defiantly. “I am first-blood,” she said, her voice strong. “I do not yield!”

  Kieran raised his sword for the final blow. Lachlei leapt to her feet, slamming her foot into his knee and taking him down, sweeping his legs out from under him. Kieran fell, dropping the sword and grasping Lachlei as he went down. Lachlei struck his jaw with a solid palm heel strike and rolled from his grasp. She rolled onto Fyren and leapt to her feet, sword in hand. Kieran was armed and on his feet as well, but not as steady. Lachlei had not broken his knee, but she had done damage to his right leg.

  Lachlei knew by the look in Kieran’s eyes that the Chi’lan would show no mercy now. He
swung his sword, pressing her backwards. Lachlei tried to slip under his attacks, but each time she was driven back.

  Hold your ground.

  Lachlei heard the voice in her head, but made no reply. She was drenched in sweat and blood, and was tiring now. She could not see how she could hold her ground without losing her head to Kieran’s blade. Kieran slammed his blade down as Lachlei brought Fyren up. This time, as the blades chattered against each other, she twisted Fyren and caught both blades, redirecting them down, point first into the ground. Using the momentum, she leapt up and threw a round kick to Kieran’s blind side, hitting him in the head.

  The kick sent Kieran sprawling, and Lachlei pulled both swords from the ground. She stood over the fallen Chi’lan with both blades pointed at Kieran’s throat.

  “Yield!” she demanded. Silence ensued.

  Kieran looked up, his face bloody from the broken nose and smashed jaw. He shook his head. “I will not.”

  Lachlei let the sword blade linger for a moment as it touched his neck. “Kieran, I need good warriors like you. Yield — you are no good to me serving Areyn Sehduk.”

  “I won’t serve a pawn.”

  “Then, serve a Chi’lan,” she said. “For I am Chi’lan, though perhaps in the past three years I may have forsaken the path. I swear by Rhyn’athel’s blood I serve the warrior god first.” She looked up and met Rhyn’s piercing gaze. I know what I am now, she thought. “Kieran, I am Rhyn’athel’s champion.” With that, she thrust his blade into the ground.

  A thunderclap shook the hill as white fire flew from the blade. For a moment, the white-hot fire surrounded her. The Chi’lan drew back in surprise and then the flames vanished. Burning pain shot through Lachlei’s forearm, and she almost dropped Fyren. Carefully, she sheathed her sword, pulled the gauntlet off, and pulled back the mail and sleeve of her arming shirt. She stared at her right arm.

  “What is it?” Cahal asked as Kieran’s eyes widened.

  Lachlei met Kieran’s gaze, and the defeated Chi’lan nodded. “It’s true, then,” he said.

  Lachlei looked up and met Rhyn’s gaze. “I’ve been chosen,” she whispered. She brandished her forearm to show the new mark of a black dragon still forming on her skin.

  CHAPTER Twenty-Two

  “Quite showy, wasn’t it?” Ni’yah remarked as Rhyn’athel followed the warriors down the hill to the mead hall. After Lachlei had won the fight, Laewynd had placed the circlet on Lachlei’s head and pronounced her queen of the Lochvaur. Lachlei accepted the title and led the warriors back to Caer Lochvaren.

  The two gods walked together at the back of the crowd; their conversation concealed from anyone who might listen in. If anyone had paid attention, they would have seen Rhyn speaking with another Lochvaur.

  “They needed a sign — I gave them one,” Rhyn’athel replied dismissively. “Lachlei is my champion. She’s proven herself — Kieran was a tough opponent.”

  “With a little help from you,” Ni’yah remarked.

  Rhyn’athel caught his gaze and held it. “Lachlei defeated Kieran on her own. I merely encouraged her.”

  Ni’yah grinned. “She’s good, isn’t she?”

  “She’s a better fighter than I expected,” Rhyn’athel admitted. “But she’s inexperienced.”

  “Her first-blood capabilities are equal to Fialan’s,” Ni’yah said. “I was disappointed when Lachlei chose to marry him — of all Laddel’s progeny, she’s shown the most promise.”

  Rhyn’athel looked at him, arching his eyebrow. “I believe you’re disappointed she’s Lochvaur.”

  “She’s half Laddel and has more of my blood in her than yours. How many generations removed from Lochvaur is she?”

  “Ten.”

  “At least ten. She should’ve had silver hair and golden eyes, if it hadn’t been for those damn dominant traits of yours…”

  Rhyn’athel chuckled. “She’s shorter than a Lochvaur ought to be. Can she transmute?”

  Ni’yah shrugged. “I don’t know — she’s never tried. I don’t think she knows her full capabilities.”

  The two gods walked down the hill to the open gate. Ni’yah stopped and gave his brother a measuring look. “Once in a while, the Wyrd weaves a strange pattern that none of us can fathom. Have you looked at the Wyrd lately?”

  Rhyn’athel shook his head. “Not in its entirety since becoming mortal, why?”

  Ni’yah looked above them and nodded. The warrior god followed his brother’s gaze, seeing the slender filaments of the Wyrd as they made up the fabric of the world. “I’ve seen only a few times when the Wyrd behaved like this. One was with Lochvaur; the other was with our own creation within the Wyrd.”

  “Are you saying that Lachlei affects the Wyrd?”

  “I’m saying that with three Athel’cen, our appearance has changed the very fabric of the Wyrd. Lachlei is more than simply a pawn; she may be a player…”

  Rhyn’athel frowned. “Then, she may control our fate.”

  “And the fate of the Nine Worlds,” Ni’yah said. “You were wise to make her your champion.”

  Rhyn’athel stared ahead at the guards at the gate, but his mind was on Lachlei. “It is more than that,” he admitted.

  Ni’yah nodded. “Indeed, my brother.”

  Rhyn’athel looked at Ni’yah in mild annoyance. “Don’t you have work to do with the Laddel?”

  Ni’yah chuckled. “I suppose I do.” He vanished, leaving the warrior god to continue though the gates of Caer Lochvaren.

  *****

  The mead hall was dark with only a faint glow from the firepit when Rhyn’athel entered. Most of the warriors had fallen asleep beside the fire with only a few still awake. Lachlei sat at a table near the fire beside Cahal. She looked up as the god entered and smiled.

  She had not seen Rhyn since her fight with Kieran. Lachlei had removed her armor and was now wearing a simple tunic and breeches. Her forearms were bare, and she gazed at the dragon marking on her arm: the mark of Rhyn’athel. She smiled as she saw him enter.

  “Where have you been?” she asked.

  Rhyn’s silver eyes glittered in the dark. “I had some unfinished business.” He sat down beside her, and his gaze fell on the dragon mark. “Does it still hurt?”

  “A little,” she admitted and then looked at him curiously. “How do you know it hurt?”

  Rhyn smiled wryly. “It looked like it hurt.”

  Lachlei gazed at him in puzzlement. “You know, Fialan never had the mark of Rhyn’athel,” she said. “But Fialan wasn’t challenged, either.”

  Rhyn slid his fingers along the mark. Lachlei suppressed a shiver as he touched the darkened skin. His touch was feather-light and gentle as he traced the mark. The pain subsided and he withdrew his hand. “You did very well against Kieran,” he said.

  She met his gaze. “I must thank you for the information,” she said. “I don’t think I would’ve had an advantage otherwise.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  Lachlei shook her head. “I don’t know what I believe anymore,” she admitted. “I thought I didn’t want the crown.”

  “It’s not what you expected.”

  “No. I thought most of what Fialan did was placate Laewynd and the Council. I had no desire for politics.” She stared at the firepit. “I always assumed I was a warrior, Rhyn, even when I chose to become Fialan’s consort and drift into the background. I felt more comfortable with the Chi’lan than I did at the affairs of state.”

  “It is one thing to win the crown; it is quite another to hold it.”

  “Fialan used to say that.” She smiled sadly.

  “Did he? So, if you didn’t want the crown, why insist on it?”

  Lachlei shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I know that Kieran, for all his strength as a warrior, doesn’t have first-blood powers. The demon that killed Fialan is still out there. The Lochvaur don’t need a politician, Rhyn. They need a champion — a first-blood — one who could take o
n a demon. Maybe someone like you.” She considered him thoughtfully. Rhyn would make a great king, she decided. He was a powerful first-blood, if enigmatic. “Why didn’t you try for the throne?”

  Rhyn shrugged. “Rhyn’athel chose you.”

  “Indeed, and maybe I am that champion, but I don’t know. A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have believed it, but now, I’m not sure.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “I think Rhyn’athel spoke to me.”

  “The warrior god?”

  She grinned foolishly. “Sounds idiotic, doesn’t it?”

  “No,” Rhyn said quickly. “What did he say?”

  “He reminded me I was first-blood,” she said. She fell silent and stared for a while at the mark. “I don’t know why Rhyn’athel chose me,” she said. “I never thought I would’ve made a champion. There are other warriors with far more experience — who are better fighters than I.”

  “But none with first-blood powers,” Rhyn reminded her.

  “No, none. Save you,” she said. “Rhyn, my inexperience nearly killed me, but my first-blood powers saved my life.” She shook her head.

  “Lachlei, there have been greater Eleion born of godling blood, who have shown less strength and determination than you,” he said, taking her hands in his own. “And there are heroes within Eleion history who had not a drop of gods’ blood in their veins. The Wyrd hands us the fate we must deal with. It is our choices and our resolve that decide whether or not we are great.” He pulled her hands to his lips and kissed them before releasing her. He met her gaze. “Go to sleep, my queen. You are Rhyn’athel’s champion.”

  Lachlei stood up slowly, touching the hand where Rhyn had kissed her. “Thank you,” she murmured as she slipped quietly towards the door that led to her chambers. She paused, still feeling his gaze before leaving the room.

  The glow from the fireplace was the only light in her chambers. Lachlei had thought the quarters were too small when Fialan was there; now it seemed extraordinarily huge. In the dim light, Fialan’s weapons and extra armor cast shadows across the room. Sparsely furnished, there was not much more than a table and chairs sitting on a thick carpet of rushes. Beside the fire, Wynne sat, holding Lachlei’s son wrapped in a warm blanket.