Lachlei

by M. H. Bonham

  Another time, Areyn… Rhyn’s voice rang clearly in the death god’s mind. He turned his horse and urged it back towards the Lochvaur lines.

  CHAPTER Thirty-Two

  Lachlei held onto Rhyn’athel from behind as the god urged the horse back to the Chi’lan lines. The smoke and fog were dissipating. Much to Lachlei’s surprise, the Silren did not pursue them much further, nor were there any living Silren ahead as they rode through the battlefield. Dead Silren warriors lay everywhere, only occasionally did Lachlei see a flash of red from a Lochvaur.

  The archers did their work, Rhyn remarked in mindspeak. We lost far fewer because of that.

  They fell silent as they rode towards the Lochvaur lines.

  Thank you for getting me out of there, Lachlei said at last. She knew if it had not been for Rhyn, she would have been dead. Lachlei doubted she could have killed the demon horse, let alone its rider.

  You shouldn’t have confronted him, Rhyn replied tersely. You could’ve been killed.

  I didn’t mean to go so far behind the enemy’s lines, she replied. The demon was there.

  Rhyn hesitated. What did you see?

  What do you mean? She paused. Do you mean the demon steed?

  You saw that.

  Yes.

  And the Silren warrior?

  Lachlei paused. What had she seen exactly? Now that Rhyn mentioned it, there had been something peculiar about the Silren who led the charge. But, what it was, she couldn’t be certain. It was as though she had looked at two different creatures. One, a Silren; the other, a dark and sinister being. I saw something, she said hesitantly. It was Silren, but it was not.

  The watch fires along the hillside glowed red. Lachlei stared at the encampment as they rode towards it.

  Where are we? What happened? she asked.

  After the demon brought up the wall of fire, he was so focused on destroying you that he neglected the army, Rhyn said. We were able to drive the Silren into a retreat.

  Lachlei shook her head. How can that be? Only an hour has passed.

  Look at the sky, Rhyn said.

  Lachlei looked up and saw that the sky was lightening in the east. She gripped Rhyn harder. What happened?

  The demon thought you were using your power against his army. While you were in the wall of flames, time slowed down. Or sped up, depending on your perspective. We were able to charge while he was focused on you.

  Then, the fight was a delay — and he was toying with me, Lachlei said. He would’ve killed me. But I thought only a god could affect time.

  Rhyn made no reply. They rode in silence for some time as they drew closer to the watch fires.

  As they approached, Rhyn mindspoke to the guards. It’s Rhyn and Lachlei — don’t shoot!

  The sun just crested the hill as they rode into the Lochvaur encampment. Cahal greeted them. “Lachlei!” he said. “We thought you were lost.”

  “No,” she said as Rhyn reined the stallion and she slid off. “Just a little misplaced.” She glanced at Rhyn, who had a thoughtful look on his face. “I just wish we had the ability to take on the demon.”

  “You saw the demon?” Cahal asked. “The one that killed Fialan?”

  “Yes,” said Rhyn, abruptly cutting them off. “We gave the Silren a good swat, too — something they’re not likely to forget for some time.”

  “Our casualties?” Lachlei asked.

  “A score dead,” Cahal said. “About twice that many wounded, but few seriously.”

  Lachlei stared. “Is that possible? How many slain on the Silren side?”

  “My estimates may be conservative,” Cahal said. He glanced at Rhyn. “How many would you say? Five thousand?”

  Rhyn nodded. “I would say that. Maybe more. The archers did most of the work.”

  Five thousand! Lachlei shook her head, trying to grasp the enormity of that number.

  “We pushed them back to the other side of the valley — scouts say they’re still in retreat.”

  “We should pursue them,” Lachlei said.

  “We will,” said Rhyn. “But not now. Our army is exhausted, and we can’t go much farther.”

  “But the Silren…”

  “The Silren will not get much farther today.” Rhyn smiled as he dismounted his horse. “Trust me.”

  Lachlei hadn’t realized how exhausted she was. Now that the battle was over fatigue set in, and Lachlei found she could barely stand. She felt Rhyn’s strong arms catch her as she teetered. For a moment, she turned and gazed into his steady silver eyes, her arms around his neck. Then, realizing her position, she pulled away and shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

  Rhyn nodded. “You need rest.” He led her to a tent.

  Lachlei noted that the Lochvaur had raised a wall tent for her in her absence. Rhyn nodded to the guard at the doorway as he led her inside. Oil lamps burned smoky and hung from the tent’s supports. There wasn’t much in the tent save a cot, a table, and some low canvas chairs. A small stove sat in the back with a small flue that extended out of the back of the tent. The warm air made her feel drowsy.

  “It’s not much,” Rhyn said as he slipped a small kettle of hot water on top of the stove and tossed some herbs into it.

  “All the comforts of home,” Lachlei replied wryly, noting that the cot had thick moose and elk hides as blankets. They looked warm and inviting. She nearly collapsed as she sat in one of the chairs. “Are you sure that the enemy is still fleeing?”

  “Quite,” he said. “They won’t stop until they reach North Marches.”

  “We should pursue them.”

  Rhyn shook his head. “No — we need to wait for reinforcements.” He handed her a mug of steaming tea that he poured from the kettle.

  “Reinforcements?” Lachlei sniffed the water. “Tea?”

  Rhyn nodded. “It’ll help you rest.”

  She scrubbed her face with her hands. “I don’t think I need help with that,” she said. “I can barely stand as it is.”

  Rhyn chuckled. “I know — I’m tired, too,” he admitted.

  “What reinforcements, Rhyn?” she asked. “Laewynd isn’t sending me more soldiers.”

  “No, the warriors are coming from the Laddel.”

  “The Laddel? My mother’s kindred?” She took a sip of the tea, which tasted faintly of cinnamon and cardamom. “Why would they come to the Lochvaur’s aid?”

  “I’m calling in some old debts the Laddel owe me,” Rhyn replied.

  “Debts? What could you have done to make an entire kindred in your debt?” Lachlei looked at him, intrigued. “Are you a Free-lancer?”

  “A mercenary?” Rhyn said, amused. “Let us say I am older than I look, and I fight those battles I deem necessary.”

  “But you’re unscathed for a warrior,” she noted.

  Rhyn shrugged. “Luck, I suppose.”

  “Not luck,” she said, studying him carefully as if for the first time. She had thought him maybe a few hundred years old, but now, she began to wonder. “A warrior like you survives because you’re a good fighter. I saw you fight, Rhyn. You’re better than any warrior I’ve seen. Where’d you learn to fight like that? And don’t tell me the North Marches.”

  Rhyn chuckled. “No, not the North Marches. No one taught me how to fight.”

  “A natural fighter?” Lachlei eyed him. She drained her cup and felt the herbs take effect. “There is more to you than meets the eye.”

  “Perhaps — but we should discuss this some other time,” Rhyn remarked. “Unless you find the mail comfortable to sleep in, I suggest you remove it.”

  Lachlei didn’t argue when he helped her pull off her boots, armor, or padded arming shirt. Beneath her armor, she wore a tunic and breeches. While they were stiff from sweat and grime, they were comfortable enough. She was so tired that she hardly noticed him leading her to the cot or covering her with the thick blankets. Rhyn sat beside her for a moment as she dropped off to sleep before kissin
g her. He ran his fingers through her red-gold hair and gazed longingly at the form beneath the fur blankets.

  Rhyn’athel stood up. Patience, he reminded himself. The Web of Wyrd showed a future that in time would unfold.

  If the warrior god was patient enough.

  CHAPTER Thirty-Three

  Morning dawned bright and cold when the Silren halted their retreat. They had come to the edge of the valley leading up to the northern end of the Shadow Mountains where the peaks jutted eastward towards the Silren lands. A great rolling plain stretched for miles as the Silren army followed the King’s Highway northward towards the ransacked village of North Marches.

  Five thousand troops dead and half again wounded. Fatigued and battle-weary, the Silren halted their forced march as the sun rose in the sky. Too weary to set up proper tents, they chose to bivouac in the frosty air.

  Areyn Sehduk strode through camp. His demon steed dead, no living creature would bear him. The Silren glanced up at him, terror mixed with exhaustion in their eyes. Without Galen and the other nobles to lead, there was no defiance. Most of the injured would not live beyond the day, much less a week; their wounds were either too serious or had already begun to fester.

  At any other time, Areyn would have delighted in the Silren’s misfortune, but now he found it a terrible inconvenience. Their lives were his already, but without the destruction of the Lochvaur kindred; they had not served his purpose.

  The Chi’lan warrior who had rescued Lachlei troubled Areyn. Was it Rhyn’athel? The Lochvaur had called Areyn Sehduk by name and destroyed Slayer. Moreover, he wielded a Sword of Power, the likes of which Areyn had not seen since the War between the Gods. And yet, Areyn could not sense if the Lochvaur was Rhyn’athel in disguise or whether he was only a first-blood. Had Rhyn’athel grown so powerful in the two millennia since their fight?

  The old fear began to gnaw at Areyn. As much as he hated Rhyn’athel, Areyn knew he could not hope to defeat the warrior god. In their last fight, Rhyn’athel had threatened to chain Areyn for eternity. Areyn didn’t relish the thought. Perhaps that kept the death god from becoming too bold. But, Areyn knew Rhyn’athel couldn’t keep truly him chained for that long. There would be mistakes — errors that would be costly. All it took was one of Areyn’s minions to slip by a Guardian, and Areyn would once again be free. And both gods knew that if Rhyn’athel dared to chain Areyn, there would be nothing left of the Nine Worlds if he were ever to get free.

  Stalemate — as it had always been. But the game was far more complex than a board game. Areyn could never gain the upper hand, and Rhyn’athel could never destroy him fully. The gods of light against the gods of darkness.

  And yet, there was something else that hung in the balance…

  “So, the warrior god is here,” came a voice.

  Areyn turned and saw the Eltar sorceress standing beside him. How did she do that? he thought. “I was wondering when you would show up,” he said irritably.

  “I am not your slave, Areyn,” Imdyr replied.

  “All are my slaves,” the god remarked. “And all serve me in the end.”

  “Then, why do you fear a single warrior?”

  Areyn glowered at her. “I didn’t see you anywhere nearby when the battle started.” He started walking away.

  “The warrior is a god,” she said.

  Areyn halted, the old fear starting to rise in his gorge. “Is it Rhyn’athel?” he asked, still not looking at her. “Do you know for sure?”

  “It might be,” she said.

  “You don’t know.”

  “No,” said Imdyr. “Not that it matters…”

  Areyn turned on her, snarling. “It matters!”

  Imdyr fell silent and Areyn wanted to kill her desperately. He wondered now if she was withhold something from him — something he would gladly kill her for. But if she were dead, he could do little to coax that information from her. As hungry as he was for mortal blood, he needed to know more.

  “If the warrior is Rhyn’athel, then why hasn’t he challenged me directly?” the god asked.

  Imdyr shrugged. “He did challenge you, but the Silren attacked,” she reminded him. “And there is a little matter of the bitch he keeps.”

  “Lachlei?”

  “Yes — or are you Wyrd-blind now that you’ve taken mortal form?”

  Despite her goad, Areyn turned his gaze to the delicate strands of the Wyrd. In them, he found the answer.

  “Lachlei…” he murmured. He turned to the Eltar sorceress. “She is why Rhyn’athel is here.”

  “Indeed, and Lachlei is why Rhyn’athel will not force another war,” Imdyr said. “For as long as she is alive, she and her sons will tip the balance of power.”

  Areyn gazed into the Wyrd again. It showed two paths clearly — one with the sons of Rhyn’athel; the other, with the sons of Areyn Sehduk. “Lachlei,” he repeated.

  “Seldom does the Wyrd bring the opportunity for victory with one defining moment.”

  Lachlei…

  The fate of the Nine Worlds lay directly with the Lochvaur champion.

  CHAPTER Thirty-Four

  Night passed into day and Fialan gazed at the swollen red sun appearing on the horizon. He stood on the battlements that had been hewn from stone long ago. The shelf above him made a natural shelter, overhanging the battlements and protecting the warriors as they kept watch.

  Fialan stared out at that bleak land and thought of Lachlei and his son, Haellsil.

  He had accepted that he was dead. Not because of anything Eshe said, or because of his meeting with Lochvaur, but because there simply was no mind-link. It was as though the mind-link had never existed. Gone, too, was his ability to sense things with his mind. Everything was flat and emotionless around him. He felt blind without his powers.

  Fialan wondered if Lachlei and his son were all right without him. Lachlei was a survivor, he decided, and she would do everything she could to make certain both she and their son lived. He missed them terribly, but he certainly didn’t wish to see them if that meant they would join him here in Areyn’s realm.

  Who would become the next Lochvaur king and Chi’lan champion? he wondered. Laewynd was the most likely candidate with his political maneuverings, but he was not a first-blood, and he had never aspired to take the crown when he could deal behind the scenes. Being king meant shouldering the responsibility for failures as well as successes. Laewynd preferred manipulation to outright confrontation — something unusual for a Chi’lan. Laewynd had supported Fialan only to discover that Fialan wouldn’t be manipulated.

  Kellachan was certainly the next first-blood in line, if he had had the first-blood powers. But a twist of fate had made him bereft of all first-blood power; just as fate had made Fialan powerful. Fialan’s son, Haellsil, would prove a powerful warrior in due time, but he was yet too young. The only other first-blood was Lachlei.

  Fialan smiled at the thought of her being the next champion and queen. Lachlei could do it, if she wanted it. But she had always been satisfied to stay in his shadow. Yet he knew she could have challenged him — and maybe won. She was almost as powerful as Fialan, and she had been a Chi’lan. Fialan had never discouraged her, yet Lachlei had seemed content to stay away from politics.

  Eshe stood beside him and gazed at him. “Was she beautiful?”

  Fialan blinked, startled from his reverie. “Lachlei? Why do you ask?”

  “You have that faraway look of a man who longs for his home,” Eshe said. She stared out into the barren land. “Lachlei — that was the name of your wife, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he said. “She is very beautiful and a great warrior.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  “If I told you otherwise, I would be lying,” he said.

  “She can never be with you as long as she is alive,” Eshe said.

  A shrill, chilling scream echoed across the battlements. Eshe shivered and pulled her cloak around her body.

  “What is that?” he ask
ed. “Demons?”

  Eshe nodded and lowered her gaze. “There are no animals here — the call you hear is one of the demons seeking victims for Areyn.” She paused. “You are not afraid.”

  Fialan lifted her chin with his finger. “Of course I’m not,” he said. “It can’t kill me.”

  “It can do much worse — when it takes your essence.”

  “Then, perhaps, I will be afraid,” Fialan said with a smile. “But not now.”

  “How can you be so brave?” she asked. “Have you never feared?”

  Fialan met her gaze. “Oh, I have,” he admitted. “Before Areyn killed me, I knew fear such that I had never known.”

  “Really? Then, why don’t you fear the demons?”

  “Because they can’t destroy me, Eshe,” Fialan said. “They’ve already taken my life, but they can’t destroy what I am anymore than they can destroy you. Don’t you see, Eshe? Lochvaur is right.”

  Eshe turned to look over the desert land. “I wish I could accept that. But you’ve never been Areyn’s victim.”

  “I haven’t?” Fialan asked wryly.

  Silence ensued. “If Areyn slew you, he would’ve feasted,” she said at last.

  “As I thought,” Fialan said. He stared into the red sun as it rose. “Eshe, can you see that this is just part of the battle between Rhyn’athel and Areyn? How many Eleion were alive after Areyn destroyed the Nine Worlds?”

  “Only those who Ni’yah managed to bring behind the walls of Athelren,” she said. “Or so they tell me. I was already dead by then.”

  “The Truce was to bring us back — to give us a chance at life again,” Fialan replied.

  “That is what they told us,” she said. “But you have never been to Athelren.”

  Fialan paused. “Have you?”

  Eshe nodded. “Yes, many of the old Lochvaur have. Athelren was our home, Fialan.”

  He stared out at the dead world. “That is why the bitterness,” he said at last.

  She smiled ruefully. “You didn’t know?”

  “Much of what came before the Battle of the Nine Worlds is lost to us,” he said. “I always thought Elren was our home.”