by M. H. Bonham
Lachlei knew the answer. No one was quite like Rhyn. He was as though a legend had suddenly come to life — a first-blood from a time before the War between the Gods. He was a demon killer and wielded a Sword of Power — something that hadn’t been known to exist. How could someone not love a legend?
And yet, there was her love for Fialan…
Lachlei cursed silently. Her reaction had been all wrong. First, she had responded to him, and then she had pulled away in fear. Was this the reaction of a Chi’lan? Of Rhyn’athel’s champion?
It was her reaction. She hadn’t wanted to be queen, but she was. Her warriors had faith in her, but her success was due to Rhyn…
“Have you seen Rhyn?” came a voice.
Lachlei turned to see Cahal standing in the doorway.
“What?” she began, feeling her face flush.
“Rhyn isn’t in camp,” Cahal said. He gazed at her for a moment. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she stammered. “No. I mean, I haven’t seen Rhyn.”
Cahal studied her briefly. “I thought you were going to ask him how he killed demons.”
“I did,” Lachlei said. “Perhaps he’s overseeing the archers.”
“I checked — he’s not there.” He paused. “Are you all right?”
Her eyes steeled. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll find Rhyn someplace.”
Cahal nodded. “The army will be ready by nightfall.”
“Good, see to it.”
Cahal left and Lachlei shook her head. Exhaustion crept over her and she closed her eyes.
It wasn’t long before Lachlei sensed another presence in the room. She kept her eyes closed but allowed her hand to drop to her hilt.
“Not a bad trick, but it needs more subtlety,” remarked Rhyn.
Lachlei opened her eyes. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
A glint of puzzlement shone in Rhyn’s eyes. “Lachlei, I came to apologize,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you…”
Lachlei’s gaze narrowed. “You didn’t hurt me,” she said. Even to her ears, her tone was clipped.
Rhyn straightened slightly. “Perhaps I didn’t,” he said, his voice neutral. He turned to leave.
“Wait…” Lachlei hesitated. Rhyn turned around and gave her an appraising look. “Listen, Rhyn,” she whispered. “I’m sorry — it’s just too soon.”
Resignation filled his eyes. “Of course, Lachlei, I understand.”
She shook her head. “That’s good, because I don’t,” she admitted. “You’re still my commander, Rhyn.”
He smiled wryly. “I didn’t think you’d demote me just yet.” He paused. “Let’s go — the army is almost ready to leave.”
*****
Fialan stared into the swollen red sun of Tarentor. What had Areyn meant that Lachlei was to be fought over by two gods? The two gods were obvious — Rhyn’athel and Areyn Sehduk — but why? Why did she hold the fate of the Nine Worlds?
Returning to Elren had awakened a burning desire to return to the world of the living. Areyn could not have been crueler by offering a drowning man a gulp of air. Fialan knew he could not return as one of the living, but would he return to fight against his own people? Part of him loathed the prospect; but another part desired to return to Elren. Even if it meant killing his own kindred.
He had seen nothing of Lochvaur since they had returned. No doubt Lochvaur was fuming over his failure to break Areyn’s power. But it was not much of a failure, Fialan thought. No god, save Rhyn’athel — not even the only other Athel’cen, Ni’yah — could defeat Areyn Sehduk. Lochvaur was Eleion — he couldn’t expect to defeat a Wyrd-born god.
Eshe stood beside Fialan silently. She hadn’t pressed him for answers when he chose to remain silent. Now he simply stood on the battlement, leaning against a merlon, while she kept him company. It was nearly midday when Fialan decided to enter into the great hall.
Fialan strode through the labyrinth of corridors to the great hall, Eshe following him like a shadow. Lochvaur sat on the throne, his eyes dark and angry at what he had to do. Fialan strode to the throne; those around him parted at his presence. Lochvaur’s gaze fell on Fialan and a rueful smile crossed the godling’s lips. “It wasn’t what either of us expected, was it, Fialan?”
Fialan took a deep breath. “What did Areyn mean when he spoke of Lachlei?”
Pity entered Lochvaur’s eyes. “I had hoped you’d be spared the knowledge,” he admitted. “I told you, Fialan, that this would be a trying time for you…”
“What?”
“The Wyrd, Fialan, has changed.” He shook his head. “There is no easy way to tell you. Lachlei will bear sons who will end this conflict.”
Fialan paused. “My son, Haellsil?”
Lochvaur shook his head. “Twin sons — the sons of a god. The sons of one of the Athel’cen.”
Silence ensued. “Lachlei is my wife…”
“Was your wife,” Lochvaur corrected. “Death has a nasty habit of changing things. The vows you took to each other are no more.”
“And so either Rhyn’athel or Areyn is going to bed her like some common whore?” Fialan snarled.
“Fialan!”
“And I’m supposed to accept this — be the good Chi’lan warrior that I am and accept that my own god is…” Fialan fell silent in disbelief.
“Fialan,” whispered Eshe.
“Leave me alone, Eshe!” he snapped.
Lochvaur drew himself up to full height. “You were never intended for Lachlei, Fialan. The Wyrd has a habit of correcting itself when there is a dead-end. No one discerned Lachlei’s pattern until Rhyn’athel saw her for the first time and the Wyrd rewove itself.”
“You’re in league with this,” Fialan snarled. He turned to leave. “Keep me out of it and leave me alone.”
“If I could,” Lochvaur replied. “I certainly would. But I have no will in this, Fialan. You are in the thick of this battle, whether you choose to accept it or not.” He paused. “And you will fight beside me in Elren.”
“No, I won’t,” Fialan replied. He shot Lochvaur a withering look before storming out of the hall.
CHAPTER Thirty-Nine
“Fialan?” Eshe said tentatively. Fialan sat on a windswept hill, dotted with saw grass. He stared into the cloudless, dark sky. He had left the fortress and climbed the hill as far away from people and the fortress as he could. She had followed him silently and waited as he sat there overlooking the plains.
“Leave me alone, Eshe,” he said. The anger was hot inside him. How could Rhyn’athel betray him? The warrior god had allowed Areyn to kill him and now Rhyn’athel would bed Lachlei.
“No, Fialan,” she said, crouching beside him. “I know you’re in a lot of pain right now…”
“Eshe, you have no idea…”
“I think I do,” she said. “Fialan, I thought you were stronger than that.”
He stared at her. “What do you know of strength?”
“I have suffered here every day since I died. I saw my two sons die in battle before me. I saw my husband and fellow Chi’lan die…”
“Then you at least have them,” he said, turning away.
“No, I don’t,” Eshe said. “Oh yes, they exist in this world, but they are gone. Gone for good.”
Fialan stared at her. “What do you mean? You say we can’t die here.”
“We can’t die, but there’s something like death here,” Eshe said. “We’re all going through it, even now. Each day, this world robs us of ourselves, Fialan. Each day, we die a little more. Haven’t you noticed the warriors here, Fialan? How flat and emotionless they’ve become? They’ve lost hope, until now. Until you told us the Truce has ended.”
Tears ran down her face and he reached out and touched her cheek. “I don’t understand, Eshe.”
“My family is out there, somewhere. They neither recognize me nor acknowledge my presence. They’ve each become one of the soulless, Fialan. They remain mindless
, emotionless…” Her voice wavered. “They are truly Undead.”
“Eshe, I…”
“I was becoming one of those, Fialan, until you arrived…”
Fialan fell silent. “But, Eshe, I have lost my beloved wife…”
“Lachlei is lost to you,” she said. “You can never see or touch her again until she dies. Even then, your love will not be the same.”
“But the gods…”
“Be glad Lachlei is part of this conflict,” she said. “And be glad Rhyn’athel may love her — he will save her from this cursed existence.”
Fialan said nothing, but did not push her away as she rested her hand on his shoulder. Instead, Fialan held it gently as they both watched the sun disappear below the horizon.
*****
Imdyr lay naked across the cot within Areyn Sehduk’s tent. She laid on several thick layers of bear skins, her gleaming form contrasting against the russet fur. Her gaunt body looked almost too fragile for the power within it.
Two days had passed since the retreat. As daylight approached, Areyn risked setting up camp. His instinct was to keep pressing forward until he could bring reinforcements, but the Silren were exhausted and at the edge of rebellion. Using the Sight, he realized that the Lochvaur stayed their pursuit, choosing to rest. He ordered the army to make camp and posted a watch.
As Areyn walked into the tent, his gaze swept over her once before glancing at the oil lamps and setting them ablaze. “Get dressed,” he said. “We have work to do.”
“You have work,” Imdyr said. “I will be no part of it.”
Areyn hesitated and met her dark eyes. Her tone suggested she was angry. At what, Areyn did not know, nor cared. “You will serve me.”
“I serve whom I please,” she replied. “Or who pleases me. Don’t forget that I am the one who can hand you victory against the god of warriors. No one else.”
Areyn laughed at her boldness. “And what is this about?”
“Lachlei,” Imdyr said.
Areyn considered her thoughtfully. He searched the memories of the dead Silren. He smiled slowly. “Jealousy, Imdyr?”
She flushed, unable to hide the anger. “I am not jealous.”
“You lie poorly,” Areyn said amused. Her face became redder now and he sat beside her. “Need I remind you that you were the one who showed me Lachlei?”
“Kill her — you’ll maintain the balance.”
“The balance isn’t what I want,” Areyn replied. “Neither I nor Rhyn’athel will be satisfied with anything less than complete victory.”
“And why should I accept this fate?” she asked. “You will use me and toss me aside when I’m no longer any use. As long as I can see past the enemy’s defenses, you find me intriguing, but once I can’t…”
“Do you think I would feel anything towards Lachlei?” Areyn asked.
“I don’t know what you feel,” Imdyr replied. “Save perhaps the lust for the power that the dead give you.” Imdyr rose slowly and slid her arms around his neck. “I could give you sons as powerful as those Lachlei would bear.” Her heady musk fragrance filled his nostrils as she lightly ran her teeth along his jaw. “How many lovers have you had, Areyn? How many have satisfied you the way I have?”
Areyn allowed the instincts of the body he had stolen to take over, kissing her passionately in response. He had many lovers before the Truce, some goddesses like Fala; others, mortals like the Eleion. The woman who lay in his bed was not much more than a child, really. Pliable and easily duped. He smiled as she unfastened his armor. “None,” he said.
“You lie,” she replied.
He gazed at her with his ice-cold eyes. “It is what you want to hear,” he said, grasping her by the shoulders and pushing her back on the cot. “Isn’t it?” he asked as he slid on top of her. “This is what you want.”
“Perhaps,” she said.
CHAPTER Forty
“An army approaches from the south,” Cahal announced as he rode to the front lines. Lachlei reined her horse and considered his words. They had followed the Silren army for two days without any sign of Areyn’s army being willing to fight. It looked as though they could drive the Silren back through North Marches and into their own lands.
The sun had already set and twilight had shrouded the land. Lachlei raised her hand to halt the weary Chi’lan. The pursuit was wearing on her troops and still they had not caught up with Areyn.
“Army?” she asked. “Whose army?”
“Laddel,” said Cahal. “They have fifteen thousand warriors total.”
“Where’s Rhyn?” Lachlei said. “He said the Laddel were coming to reinforce us.”
Cahal stared at her. “Reinforcements? How?” He shook his head. “The Laddel have always been our allies, but why would they come to aid us now at a mere Chi’lan’s word?”
“I don’t know,” Lachlei confessed. “There is more to Rhyn than he has told us.” She paused. “Where is he?” She scanned her ranks of officers, but did not see him among them.
“He’s with the archers,” Cahal said. “I’ll get him.”
Lachlei nodded and watched as Cahal rode towards the back of the army. She had only seen Rhyn twice since he left her tent. Those two times he had seemed subdued, no doubt due to her overreaction.
The pursuit had given her time to think. It was natural that she would be drawn to him as much as he was attracted to her. They had worked closely together — closer than even she and Fialan had worked when they were Chi’lan. Yet Lachlei was surprised at the intensity of her reaction; she had never felt so driven by desire. It frightened her.
Cahal rode back with Rhyn riding beside him. Rhyn met her gaze steadily, forcing her to look away. “Cahal tells me your Laddel are here.”
“I know,” he said.
“Commander, I want you to come with me when I meet with them, since you have a better understanding of this alliance than I do,” Lachlei said, finally meeting his gaze. “I’d reprimand you for not telling me about your Laddel contacts, Rhyn, but we may need them. I want you to tell me about those connections.”
“Blood,” Rhyn said without hesitation.
Lachlei stared. “You’re part Laddel?” She gazed at him in wonder, but could not see any Laddel features.
Rhyn shook his head. “Not exactly. I have some close relatives who are, though.”
“Really?” she said. “If they were in North Marches…” Her voice trailed off. “I’m sorry.”
“North Marches is Laddel concern, if not Laddel territory,” Rhyn replied. “I had sent a messenger to Caer Ladren the night we left Caer Lochvaren. I couldn’t guarantee troops.”
Lachlei smiled wryly. “You’re not as good a liar as you think,” she replied. “But I will accept that explanation — for the time being.” She turned to Cahal. “Can we outrun them, if necessary?”
“Outrun them?” Cahal asked, puzzled.
“Despite Rhyn’s assurances, I can’t consider any army that large to be anything but a threat until I meet with their commander,” Lachlei said, glancing at Rhyn. “The Laddel have no love for the Silren, and I trust Rhyn’s judgment, but my instinct tells me to be wary.”
“Wise in any encounter,” said Rhyn. “But I think you’ll find me right in this.”
“Let us hope so,” she said. “Our warriors are weary from the chase and need rest. They do not need a battle.”
*****
Mani, the third moon, had risen and brought its baleful glow on the two armies when the messengers returned from the Laddel army. Lachlei had lined her chase-weary Chi’lan ready for battle, if necessary. Over a rise, the Laddel army stood ready as their messengers rode forward. They bore the standards of the wolf and the silver and green colors of Ni’yah’s kindred.
Lachlei rode out to greet them, flanked by Rhyn and Cahal. She decided to not have extra guards as they would do little good should the Laddel attack. She halted her steed, and Rhyn rode up beside her on his gray warhorse. He looked relaxed, much t
o her chagrin.
As the riders came forward, Lachlei saw that they were not messengers, but nobility. Three warriors rode together with four guards. One warrior caught her attention. His wolf-gray mane, flecked with white, and brass eyes were unmistakable. His armor and surcoat bore the mark of the godling.
“Is that who I think it is?” Lachlei said, gazing at the warrior. “Is that Laddel, himself?” She glanced at Rhyn, who nodded.
“Wasn’t your mother from the Laddel kindred?” Cahal asked.
“Ladara was Laddel’s granddaughter, but I’ve only seen Laddel twice,” Lachlei replied. She paused and considered the other two warriors. One she recognized as Ladsil, Laddel’s son. But the other Laddel, she didn’t recognize. She stared at him for a moment and back at Rhyn. There was a familiarity about the warrior.
“Something is wrong, Lachlei, to bring a godling here,” Cahal said, interrupting her thoughts.
“The warrior on Laddel’s right side,” Lachlei said. “Who is he?”
Rhyn hesitated. “That would be Telek,” he said. “First-blood.”
Lachlei stared at the Laddel. There was a familial look between Rhyn and Telek that couldn’t be disguised, despite Rhyn’s Lochvaur features and Telek’s obvious Laddel countenance, hair, and build.
Lachlei steeled herself and clapped her legs against her horse’s sides. Cahal and Rhyn rode with her.
The Laddel guards parted and circled the three Lochvaur. Laddel rode forward, his brass eyes glowing in the oncoming night. “Lachlei,” he said with a smile. “Daughter of my granddaughter. Please accept my condolences on the loss of Fialan. He was a great warrior-king.”
Lachlei nodded. “Laddel,” she said, smiling. “What brings the children of the wolf-god to Lochvaren?”
“The same thing that brings you to this place — Areyn Sehduk,” he said.
Lachlei stared. “Areyn Sehduk?” she repeated in confusion. “The death god is here?”