by M. H. Bonham
Kiril and Eshe glanced at each other. “Kiril — you fought demons before — have you ever seen anything like that?” Eshe asked. Her eyes were wide with fear.
Kiril shook his head. “Never — and I’d bet no one else has seen such magic — save perhaps Lochvaur.” He looked at Fialan in respect. “What did you strike?”
“Something that should’ve died by my sword but did not. Something that robbed me of my first-blood magic.”
A cold wind blew through them. A lone cry echoed across that desolate land. Eshe shivered. “We’d better get inside, Kiril.”
Kiril nodded. “Sheathe your sword, first-blood. I think Lochvaur will want to hear what you have to say.”
CHAPTER Twenty-Seven
Fog began to seep down the hills and into the valley where Rhyn’athel knew his enemy lay in wait. The warrior god rode forward, flanked by Cahal and Tamar. The King’s Highway was barely a road here, just wide enough for horses to scramble through. The road was marked with occasional cairn stones, carved with ancient runes. Rhyn’athel glanced at them — they spoke of the builders of the roads — Eleion who were no more. At one time, they had been Rhyn’athel’s warriors; now they belonged to Areyn Sehduk.
Rhyn led the warriors down the narrow ravine, through the talus and scree and into the deep pines, silent in his musings. He had lost many warriors to Areyn — too many. Areyn’s power came from the energy of those who died.
“Strange,” said Cahal, interrupting the god’s thoughts. He glanced apprehensively at Rhyn’athel.
“What?” the god asked. He glanced around in the growing dusk. The fog made the pine trees look ethereal, but he could sense nothing worrisome.
“The fog,” the Chi’lan said. “It moves with us. Fog normally comes from the valleys, not the hills.”
Rhyn smiled slyly. “Then, we are indeed fortunate — it will hide our actual numbers,” he remarked.
Tamar glanced at Cahal. “Sorcery of some sort or I’m not Chi’lan,” he growled.
“Perhaps,” Rhyn shrugged. “Perhaps not. As long as it remains in our favor, I am not concerned.” He halted his stallion and held up his hand, scanning the area where he knew Areyn’s troops lay in wait. While Rhyn’athel couldn’t quite sense Areyn Sehduk, himself, Rhyn’athel could feel the death god’s power. There was no disguising Areyn’s stench and the warrior god bristled in anger at the thought of Areyn being within this world.
Areyn is bold if he thinks I will stand idly by and let him tilt the balance, he thought darkly. For a moment, he felt a dark power that seemed to reach out and brush his mind, but he turned it aside. Areyn is getting bolder, he thought.
“The Silren will expect us to attack through that cleft,” said Cahal. “It’ll be suicide for us to attack them there — they’ll cut us down.”
“But there is no other way through,” Tamar said. “The cliffs are too steep for our horses.”
Rhyn’athel grinned. “Don’t worry — just be prepared to attack when I give the signal.”
*****
Imdyr frowned. “Something isn’t right,” she said as the mist crept forward into their lines. She shivered and pulled her cloak around her tightly as though to ward off a spell. A silence had fallen over the Silren army as they waited amid the trees. Hours passed and still the Lochvaur army failed to charge through the gorge. The last rays of the sun went behind the mountains, throwing everything into shadow.
Imdyr tried to sense the Lochvaur and was abruptly swatted aside like a gnat. She tried again, only to find greater resistance.
“What is wrong?” Areyn said, seeing her vexed.
“I’ve never seen such power,” she murmured.
Galen rode beside Areyn. “Akwel, there’s something amiss with this fog — it comes from the wrong direction.” He stared at Imdyr. “What is that doing here?”
Areyn glanced at Imdyr. “She is a sorceress…”
“Demoness!” Galen spat. He drew his sword and pointed it at Imdyr as she huddled in her cloak. “The Eltar are Fala’s minions!”
Areyn gazed at the Silren warrior in boredom. Pity he would have to kill Galen now…
Screams rang through the army, and the Silren broke ranks. Flames shot from behind the lines as an army on horseback attacked from behind. Thousands of Lochvaur warriors seemingly appeared out of nowhere, charging directly into the Silren flank.
Areyn reined Slayer, cursing. “Damn it, bitch!” he snapped at Imdyr. “I thought you said they were attacking from the cleft!” Before Imdyr could reply, Areyn rode towards the warriors, brandishing his sword. “Attack! Attack!”
The Silren turned and attacked. Suddenly, the army vanished before their eyes. Bewildered, the Silren soldiers halted.
Areyn stared wide-eyed, realizing the trick too late. “What kind of treachery is this?” he snarled, turning the demon mount. A battle cry rang out as the Lochvaur attacked. Rhyn led the Lochvaur through the cleft and attacked the Silren on what was now their flank. The Silren were thrown into complete confusion, many breaking ranks and fleeing.
“To me! To me!” Areyn shouted, hoping to rally the Silren. He spurred the demon horse and rode towards the Lochvaur.
*****
Rhyn’athel swung the great Sword of Power, cleaving through mail, sinew, and bone. The Silren warrior he had fought shuddered and collapsed as the warrior god withdrew the Sword, felt the man’s final death rattle and saw the light fade from his eyes.
The waste, Rhyn’athel thought. He hated killing mortals — especially Eleion — but it really couldn’t be helped. Not while Areyn had the Silren under his sway. Demons, undead, and Jotunn were more to Rhyn’athel’s liking — they already belonged to Areyn.
He hadn’t expected the illusion to work as well as it did — especially against Areyn Sehduk. Areyn is out of practice, Rhyn’athel thought wryly. In the wars before the Truce, such deceptions were commonplace and most gods saw through them. But Areyn did not know he was fighting a god now — certainly not Rhyn’athel, himself.
The screams of battle and blood-rage pounded in Rhyn’athel’s veins, and he grinned as he saw the Chi’lan force the Silren warriors into a hasty retreat. He was still very much the god of warriors, despite the mortal body. He spurred the warhorse forward, brandishing his sword, screaming a battle cry that hadn’t been heard in over a thousand years. He led the charge into the fleeing Silren lines.
Then, Rhyn’athel saw the dark warlord on his demon steed. Cold hatred filled the warrior god as he gazed on the warrior called Akwel. The man was Silren, with ice-blue eyes and a long white mane, but Rhyn’athel immediately saw through the guise. Areyn rode one of his demons as a mount. The creature snarled and slavered as blood and foam dripped from its fangs. Instead of hooves, it had thick, rippling muscles and massive clawed feet. It turned its red eyes on Rhyn’athel.
The warrior god screamed in rage, ready to leap from his own horse and kill the vile thing. How dare Areyn bring this creature into this world!
“Rhyn! Rhyn!”
Cahal’s voice brought the god back. Cahal was shouting. “We’ve got to go! Now!” Fear was in the Chi’lan’s voice, and Rhyn’athel surveyed the situation. Thousands of Silren had turned to fight, and the Lochvaur were now fighting for their lives.
For a second, the warrior god hesitated. Areyn was still too far away for Rhyn’athel to reach him. He reined his horse hard. “Let’s get out of here!” he ordered. There would be another time.
*****
Flames exploded between the Silren and the Lochvaur. The Silren jerked back, fearful, but Areyn laughed. “After them!” he shouted.
CHAPTER Twenty-Eight
Lachlei sat on her mount, anger building within her. She shouldn’t have let Rhyn convince her to wait with the rest of the army. She should be with him, leading the attack. The Silren and the demon had killed Fialan — she wanted her revenge. The sheer arrogance of the Silren galled Lachlei and she wanted blood.
All around her, the Chi’lan
stood ready. She had lined up five hundred longbow men behind the main cavalry. Even the archers had their mounts ready if they needed to flee. Still, Lachlei knew the longbows were the Lochvaur’s greatest defense. She wished she had more Chi’lan to use as bowmen, but she didn’t dare spread her warriors too thin.
Not that the enemy would know, she thought. It was almost dark and in the dim light and the fog, she couldn’t see the end of her battle lines. She had forbidden the use of fire — it would betray their position and their numbers.
Lachlei reached out with her powers, trying to sense the battle ahead. Her Sight was limited, but she did see flashes of the battle. Rhyn’s image came to mind, and she saw him charge against the Silren, wielding his great Sword of Power. She watched unable to turn away from the vision, but fearful that the North Marches Chi’lan might die. Cahal flashed into her vision, pulling Rhyn away and the image faded. Lachlei concentrated, trying desperately to bring the vision back…
“Lachlei!” Kellachan’s voice brought her back to the present.
She turned to Kellachan as he rode towards her. “What is it, Kel?”
“Our scouts have returned — Rhyn is leading the retreat. They’ll be here any moment.”
Suddenly, the sounds of battle rang through the hills.
Steady! she mindspoke to her warriors. Don’t attack our own.
Horses and Chi’lan burst through the fog towards the army, some hundred yards out. The Chi’lan army held fast.
Rhyn led the retreat, his great gray horse moving like a shadow through the mist. Get ready! he shouted mentally with such power that Lachlei was certain the hills were ringing with his voice.
Archers! she called mentally. Steady!
The longbow men had already nocked their arrows. They pulled back, waiting for the command.
The Silren warriors burst through the fog, their torches lit. They rode bearing their blue and silver colors as they chased the Chi’lan. Some saw the army, and their horses skidded to a halt as they reined them hard, but others, intent on their quarry, continued to charge headlong towards the Lochvaur army.
Fire! Lachlei shouted in mindspeak. A storm of arrows flew overhead as the longbow men released their bowstrings. Volley after volley of arrows flew towards the Silren, cutting down the soldiers.
Rhyn reined his horse and looked questioningly at Lachlei. She sat sternly on her mount, watching the arrows provide an invincible wall against the Silren. The Silren turned and fled, chased into the fog by the lethal rain from the Lochvaur archers.
But Lachlei knew it couldn’t last. She glanced at Kellachan, who rode among the archers. He nodded and gave her a knowing look.
We’ll be out of arrows within a few minutes, Kellachan said in mindspeak.
*****
Areyn cursed as he watched the Silren retreat. He had expected heavy casualties, but not this great. Few Lochvaur had fallen in the initial attack and retreat, but now the wall of arrows seemed impenetrable.
The explosions and subsequent illusions had been impressive. So impressive that Areyn Sehduk had wondered if the wolf-god were nearby. Still, a powerful first-blood could pull it off — if there were one. Areyn searched his memory for Rhyn’athel’s first-bloods — who could possibly have such power? Fialan, certainly, but he was dead. The only other first-bloods were Fialan’s consort, Lachlei, and a cousin, Kellachan; neither had seemed very powerful. But there had been another face among the warriors that charged. A familiar face…
Slayer champed in vexation, and Areyn looked up. Already, the Silren line was retreating towards him. Sighing with boredom and annoyance, Areyn rode forward. The Eltar witch was nowhere to be seen. Typical. Imdyr had fled at the sight of the Lochvaur attack. He would deal with her later.
Galen rode towards him. The commander was covered in blood and grime. Some of it was his own blood — Areyn was certain Galen would die from a painful infection. The thought cheered him greatly.
“Their arrows are keeping us back,” Galen said. “They have longbow men.”
Areyn shook his head. “They’re almost out, you fool! Gather your men and prepare for another attack. This time, we’ll break right through their lines.”
*****
The flicker of torches through the fog told Lachlei that the Silren army was massing for another attack. How many were there? she wondered, trying to gain a sense for the numbers of dead on both sides. The fog was still thick, and now smoke choked the air.
Night had fallen, and Lachlei could see the reddish glow of the moons overhead through the thick smoke and fog. She could hardly tell the difference between the smoke and the mist anymore, but both had helped their cause. Lachlei could sense the magic that pervaded the woods around them — the fog and the smoke were supernatural as though a first-blood had used his power to ward off the approaching army.
Rhyn, she thought. The first-blood Chi’lan had to be the reason. If it were he, then Rhyn was more powerful than Fialan had been. Indeed, she doubted the world had seen a first-blood like him since Lochvaur.
As much as Lachlei hated to admit it, Rhyn intrigued her. He was remarkably open and vulnerable — and yet, beneath the apparent openness was extraordinary power. Rhyn had admitted he was a demon killer — something certainly not seen since the wars between the gods — and he carried a Sword of Power. That alone was a relic from those ancient times.
But there was more to Rhyn than his apparent power. Lachlei felt comfortable around him in the same way she had felt around Fialan. She didn’t know why or how the Chi’lan had made her feel at ease, but she felt she could trust him with her life. Perhaps it was the blood. First-bloods instinctively knew each other; they shared a link with the warrior god himself.
Rhyn rode up beside her. He was covered with blood and dirt; his cloak was gone, and his armor had some rents. Although he looked unscathed, those silver eyes were no longer steady and didn’t hold her gaze long.
Rhyn is weary, she realized. “Are you all right?” she asked tentatively.
Rhyn nodded. “We lost Trayhan and Haelle,” he said, taking a gulp of water from a canteen and then splashing the water on his face. “But we surprised them.” He paused. “How long can the archers hold the line?”
“We’re almost out of arrows,” she said grimly. “How many do you think we’ve slain?”
“Maybe three thousand,” Rhyn said. “The arrows have been keeping the Silren from advancing on us, but we’ve been unable to kill many more after the first assault.”
Lachlei shook her head. “That still leaves the majority of their army.” She paused. “Is there any way for us to lure them back in?”
“I’m surprised we killed this many with the demon there.”
“Did you see the demon?”
Rhyn nodded. “Yes, but he was too far back in the lines for anyone to reach him.”
“What did it look like?”
“Silren,” Rhyn replied. “He’s tall and wears black armor, unlike the other Silren, so there’s no mistaking him. He rides a black charger I think is from Areyn’s realm.”
“How do you kill it?” she asked.
Rhyn shook his head. “You don’t. There’s a trick to fighting him.”
“I’ll kill it,” she said, biting her lower lip. The pain of losing Fialan returned as she recalled gazing on his corpse. “Fyren took a bite out of it — that means the demon can be killed.”
Rhyn looked at her curiously. “And Fialan paid for that lucky hit with his life.”
Lachlei stared at him. “What?” she said as she felt herself flush in anger.
Rhyn ran his hand across his face. “I didn’t mean it quite that way,” he said. “Forgive me — I’m tired.”
“It’s all right,” Lachlei found herself saying to her surprise. “You caught me off guard — that’s all.”
“No,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said it. Fialan was a great warrior…” His voice trailed off, unwilling to say anything more.
“But he wasn’t
a demon killer,” she said, finishing Rhyn’s thought. She paused and considered him carefully. “It must take quite a bit of power to maintain this fog.”
Rhyn looked uncomfortable but said nothing.
“Cahal told me of the illusions,” she ventured. “Fialan could do illusions, but not like this.”
Rhyn shrugged. “The demon no doubt is aware of these little tricks — the Silren won’t be fooled so easily now.”
“Can you still maintain the fog?”
Rhyn nodded. “I should be able to. But that won’t help our current situation much. What should we do? We can’t wait until we run out of arrows.”
Lachlei shook her head. “I don’t know. We’re still outnumbered by over three to one.”
CHAPTER Twenty-Nine
Areyn closed his eyes, summoning the power deep within him. Areyn now called upon the hatred and desire to destroy this world. He had kept that power in check while mortal, but now, he relied on it. The rage within him fed the power. He felt the magic fill him; its power raced along his skin. Slayer began to slaver again, feeling the need to feast. Areyn Sehduk too felt the need for death. The Silren deaths were good, but he desired the blood of Lochvaur.
The fog had been troublesome. Areyn had tried to cause it to dissipate more than once, but without much success. He could cause it to dissipate in one place, only to have more roll in when he focused on another section. The enchantment was stronger than anything he had yet encountered in this world. Perhaps it was the price of assuming a mortal’s body. Akwel hadn’t been a particularly powerful first-blood Silren, but had been powerful enough. The mesh between the mortal’s body and Areyn’s mind hadn’t been perfect.
Reining his mount around, Areyn’s eyes flashed. “Charge! Damn you! Charge!”
The Silren nearby cowered. Galen shook his head. “Charge? Are you mad? The Lochvaur longbows will cut us down before we even reach them.”
“Are you a coward?” Areyn snarled.