Lachlei

by M. H. Bonham

  Cara had slept so soundly that she had not noticed that the servants had entered and replaced her garments with clean ones or that a bath had been drawn for her. The Elesil had a tradition of woman warriors and had spared her the humiliation of wearing a dress. The tunic and breeches were soft cotton in the silver and royal blue colors of the Silren. They had also replaced the quilted arming jacket and the padded leggings.

  Cara shook her head. She was vigilant and would have normally wakened when someone entered the room. Now, she strode over to the bath that looked so inviting. Touching the water, she found that it was still hot, and slid into it. The miles of hard riding and evading the armies had taken its toll, and she allowed the simple luxury to relax her.

  As she lay in the hot water, her thoughts returned to Ni’yah. The wolf-god was well known for being a troublemaker, even when he had the best intentions. But he was also the brother of the warrior god and allied with Rhyn’athel. If Ni’yah felt that she could do something to change this war in the gods of light favor, then perhaps her efforts would not be in vain.

  Reluctantly, she pulled herself from the bath and wrapped herself with a thick towel. Haukel and the other warriors would be waiting for her. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she noticed how hard her body had become in recent months. Her long, white mane, streaked with flecks of silver, needed cutting again so she plaited it to keep it out of her way. Her face was striking, but not beautiful, and she bore the scars of a warrior. Her nose was offset from being broken twice, and a thin scar cut across her forehead where she barely missed being poll axed. Most men found her intimidating, being both a commander and the daughter of the king.

  A knock on the door brought her from her reverie. She threw down the towel and slipped into the tunic and breeches. “Come in,” she said as she fastened her swordbelt around her waist.

  Haukel entered and smiled. “You’re looking relaxed, Commander. I trust you had a good night’s sleep?”

  Cara considered her captain. He, too, had cleaned up and was wearing fresh clothing, courtesy of the Elesil. “Indeed — I haven’t had a rest like that in months. I take it that our warriors have been cared for?”

  Haukel nodded. “There’s food and drink in a small guest dining room just down the hall. They’re all there.”

  “Good,” Cara said. “Let’s go.” Haukel led her to the room. The door was open, and her Silren were sitting around two tables with platters of fruit, breads, and cheeses. All of them wore clean clothing — some in armor; most were clad simply in tunics and breeches. Her soldiers rose on seeing her.

  “Commander!” Tora spoke.

  “Please sit,” Cara said as she and Haukel moved towards an empty place at the second table.

  “Where’s Ni’yah?” Cara asked, scanning the room.

  “Gone,” said Haukel. “His room is empty. It’s as if he never existed.” They sat down.

  Cara chuckled and reached for some spiced dried fruit. “I’d be tempted to think that, except we’re here in Caer Elesilren, under the hospitality of King Conlan.”

  “What do we do now?” Haukel asked.

  “Well, my guess is that we’re where Ni’yah wants us to be,” Cara replied. “I’m assuming that he doesn’t expect for me to sit idly by.” She paused and smiled slyly.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I am a commander without an army, and the Elesil might need a commander,” she said.

  “Are you suggesting we lead the Elesil into battle against our own people?”

  “No, I’m suggesting we lead the Elesil into battle against the demons,” she replied. “The Lochvaur could use our help.”

  Haukel shook his head. “I don’t know if we can convince Conlan to lending us a few thousand of his troops to attack Areyn Sehduk.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Cara with a gleam in her eye as she ate. “Perhaps it’s a matter of how we ask him.”

  CHAPTER Fifty-Two

  After breakfast, Cara led her Silren into the Elesil great hall and halted. As the doors opened, she stared at the great hall in wonder. The room glistened with white marble floors and rich, exotic wood. She strode across the three silver eight-rayed stars of the Elesil inlaid in the floor. Columns of stone rose upward to a vaulted ceiling where clerestories, filled with indigo glass, mimicked the night’s sky above. The nobles’ benches lined both sides of the hall as it led to the firepit and dais. The firepit lay before the thrones where Conlan and his queen, Rani, sat. Above the firepit, a hole opened to the sky.

  Cara glanced from side to side. Although the Elesil were a brother kindred to the Silren, there were marked differences between the two. The Silren tended to be taller than the Elesil on average and had pure white manes or white manes streaked with silver. The Elesil had silver manes, similar to the Laddel, and had silver eyes; whereas, the Silren had ice-blue or silver eyes. There were other differences, much more subtle, that had more to do with their culture and philosophy. One was a warrior culture; the other, mainly agrarian.

  The Silren were never as numerous as the Elesil, but were greater fighters. The Elesil were more content to stay in their lands and obtain what they needed through trade. Both methods had served them well. Until now.

  Cara strode forward past the Elesil nobles and stood before Conlan and Rani. Rani was typical of most Elesil women, tall, beautiful, and fair skinned. She smiled graciously as she looked on Cara. Cara nodded, now realizing how different their worlds were.

  “Conlan tells me that you’ve come seeking the Elesil aid,” Rani said.

  “I have,” Cara said. “I am Cara, Daughter of Silvain.”

  “It appears that your father has sent a messenger as well,” Rani said. “He has asked that the Elesil join the Silren in defeating the Lochvaur kindred.”

  A low murmur ran through Cara’s warriors. Cara held up her hand for silence. “Messenger — what messenger?” she asked.

  Conlan’s gaze shifted to a Silren warrior who stood among the Elesil nobles that Cara had missed. Cara’s eyes narrowed as her gaze fell on the warrior. It looked Silren, but was not. Silren-like, it had a long white mane and ice-blue eyes, but beneath the armor and the flesh, there was something else. Something sinister. The creature met her gaze coldly. “Your father wanted me to send his regards.”

  “Gods — what is that, Conlan?” she demanded, her hand on her hilt as she stepped forward.

  “What do you mean?” Conlan said in confusion.

  The Silren messenger strode forward. “What is wrong, Cara? Or do you go against Silvain’s wishes?”

  “I don’t know you,” she said. “I know every warrior in my father’s personal guard, and you’re not any of them.” Cara could feel Haukel’s gauntleted hand grip her arm. She shot him a look. Be ready, she mindspoke to her warriors. Haukel released her, and Cara strode forward towards the messenger.

  The creature met her gaze. “I joined your father’s guard after you left.”

  “Indeed, I would say he made a poor choice.” Cara used her powers to try to sense what was behind the body. She felt a hard, cold shove, and the creature’s eyes glittered menacingly.

  “I don’t know what you are, but you’re no Silren,” she growled.

  “Nonsense, I am everything Silren,” the creature said, drawing closer.

  The creature made its move, but Cara was faster. She drew her adamantine blade and brought it down on the creature, cleaving through armor, bone, and sinew. Conlan yelled, but the Silren warriors already had their swords out to protect Cara as she fought the beast.

  “Wait, your majesty,” Haukel said.

  The Silren messenger shed its body and grew in size. What stood before Cara was an arch-demon. Conlan and Rani withdrew in horror as Cara and the demon circled. The Elesil guards halted and stared.

  “What should we do?” Conlan asked.

  “Have your men ready with crossbows. Do you have adamantine-tipped quarrels?” Haukel asked.

  “Yes.” Conlan’s eyes glazed ov
er slightly as he relayed the message via mindspeak to his guards. “We should help her. My men are at the entrances so it can’t escape.”

  Haukel shook his head. “I’ll come in if she can’t handle it, but she’s as good as a Chi’lan warrior — maybe better.”

  The demon leapt at Cara. Cara slashed, dodging the sharp talons as they threatened to cut through her clothing. Now she cursed her decision to not wear mail. She had not expected a fight in the king’s great hall.

  The demon screamed as she sliced through its talons. Black blood splashed everywhere, and the demon charged, its blood-red eyes glowing. Cara retreated, but the demon pressed her. As the demon brought its claws around she dodged beneath its wounded arm and leapt onto its back. The demon screamed, swatting at her. Cara plunged her sword deep into the demon’s back and rolled off as it thrashed.

  “Now!” shouted Cara. The guards let loose a hail of quarrels. The demon staggered and fell. Cara wiped the blood from her face and walked over to the body. She pulled her sword out.

  “Are you all right?” Conlan asked as he stood beside her. “What is it?”

  Cara nodded. “I’m fine. It’s one of those demons that have control of my kindred, Conlan. If you fight with my father’s kindred, you, too, will be under its control.”

  Conlan looked at the demon and shuddered. Even now, the body was beginning to disintegrate. “What do you need, Cara of the Silren, to stop the demons?”

  “We must stop the Silren from destroying the Lochvaur before it is too late,” she said. “We fight the death god, himself.”

  Conlan looked grim. “We will destroy the demons together,” he said. “Consider the Elesil army your allies.”

  CHAPTER Fifty-Three

  You stupid fool, Ni’yah remarked. The wolf-god had appeared beside Rhyn’athel as he stood outside of his mortal body. You took on an arch-demon. Areyn will now know you’re here.

  Rhyn’athel glared at his brother and then turned to watch Lachlei kneeling beside his body. I’m mortally wounded, aren’t I? Rhyn’athel asked.

  Yes, your body is dying, he replied. If you want to get the full effect of it, you can reenter it again.

  But Rhyn’athel wasn’t listening. Instead, he stared at Lachlei. What is she doing? he asked in incredulity. He knew the answer. Lachlei’s hands pressed against the wound, power flowing from her fingers: she was trying to heal him with her first-blood powers.

  That wound is beyond most first-bloods, Ni’yah said, a grim smile on his face. I’ve only seen Lochvaur and Laddel heal something that grievous.

  Rhyn’athel stared. Could she do it?

  Doubtful, Ni’yah said.

  She’d die in the attempt, the god said in wonder.

  Lachlei’s gaze was on Rhyn’s graying face. Rhyn’athel, she thought. Rhyn’athel, if ever there was a great Chi’lan champion, it is Rhyn. He took the blow intended for me.

  Very altruistic of you, Ni’yah remarked sarcastically. Are you going to let her sacrifice herself?

  Rhyn’athel glared again at his brother. Did I ask your help? He knelt down beside her as she focused on his wounds. The claw had damaged his heart, torn into a lung, and then ripped through the blood vessels. No man, not even his son, Lochvaur, could withstand such a blow even with a first-blood healer present. And yet, could he make it look like she had healed him?

  He felt her power pour into his body, healing what she could, but Lachlei was getting weaker. Areyn would already know Rhyn’athel was there — perhaps it didn’t matter how. He focused on her, pouring his own power into her to channel back into his body. Lachlei grew stronger with the surge, and Rhyn’athel could feel the pull of the mortal body again. The color was beginning to return to his face, and he let himself be pulled back into the shell.

  *****

  Lachlei was near exhaustion when Rhyn’s eyes opened. He gripped Lachlei’s wrist and broke their contact. She would die if she continued. “Rhyn?” she whispered.

  “By Rhyn’athel’s sword,” Cahal said, not believing what he had seen. “Lachlei — he was dead.”

  “Not quite,” she whispered. “Not quite.”

  Rhyn took a breath and then another. His miraculous recovery would look suspicious, regardless of how slowly he appeared to heal. “Lachlei, you shouldn’t have done that.”

  “No, Rhyn,” she said. “Don’t speak. You must heal.”

  “No, Lachlei,” he said. “I’m not what you think I am…”

  “I know what you are,” Lachlei replied and met his gaze. Rhyn hesitated. You’re a Guardian, aren’t you? she asked. The gods have sent you.

  Only one god, Rhyn thought. Perhaps it was time to reveal who he really was…

  Cahal touched her shoulder. “Lachlei, the watchers tell us Areyn’s army is on the move. We’re likely to get more of those demons…”

  “Prepare for the march,” she said. “Let me know when we’re ready.”

  “Don’t wait,” Rhyn said, his voice hoarse. He still had the metallic taste of blood in his mouth and felt weak, but the link between the mortal body and himself had not been quite severed. “Lachlei, you must go now…”

  “Rhyn, you’re in no condition to travel,” she said.

  And who would protect Lachlei? Ni’yah added in his mind.

  Rhyn fought to sit up. Despite his mortal disguise, he had to heal himself quickly and give Lachlei enough power to protect herself. With each second, Rhyn’athel allowed himself to regenerate. Areyn would probably laugh if he saw the warrior god and his champion, injured and unable to continue.

  “No, Rhyn,” Lachlei said and tried to push him back down. Her strength was returning. “You’ve been mortally wounded.”

  “No, Lachlei,” he replied. “You don’t understand, do you? I can heal. Areyn’s demons want you. If they capture you, Areyn will have you.”

  A cold wind blew between them, causing her to shudder.

  “We must leave now,” he said, his voice growing stronger.

  Indecision flickered in her eyes.

  “Have I ever led you astray?” he asked.

  She met his steely gaze. Something within those silver eyes told her he was serious. She turned to Cahal. “We’re going.” She looked at Rhyn. “Can you stand?”

  “I think so,” Rhyn said, scrambling to get his knees under him. The last surge of power healed him, and he drew Teiwaz. The Sword of Power glimmered in response.

  “Demons!” They heard the watch cry out. Warriors were already scrambling to arm themselves and turning to meet the threat. Lachlei was fastening the arming points of her quilted jack.

  “Don’t bother!” Rhyn snapped. “Get on my horse!”

  Lachlei turned to see Rhyn’s stallion standing nearby. She shrugged the mail hauberk over her shoulders and fastened her swordbelt. “What of my own horse?”

  Screams echoed from the army’s flank. A dark wave like smoke rolled over the Chi’lan and Laddel warriors as Areyn’s army of dead warriors charged the flanks. Demons shrieked overhead and plummeted towards the warriors. A demon — a heath-stalker — flew at them, and Rhyn slashed at its claws. The demon shrieked and hovered just out of sword reach. The warrior god cursed Areyn and swung Teiwaz. The demon chattered and flapped its giant wings to stay away from the god’s weapon.

  “I can’t protect you if you’re away from me,” Rhyn shouted.

  Lachlei’s expression darkened. “I am Rhyn’athel’s champion,” she said. “I should be leading my people.” She leapt on her own warhorse and drew Fyren. “To me! To me!” she shouted.

  CHAPTER Fifty-Four

  Fialan reined his horse and stared. Despite the overwhelming force that gripped him, he saw Lachlei and halted.

  “By Rhyn’athel’s sword!” he exclaimed. “That’s Lachlei!”

  Lochvaur reined his horse beside him. “So, it is,” he said. His gaze fell on the warrior who stood beside her

  Father…

  Fialan glanced at the godling, overhearing Lochvaur’s unguarded
thoughts. Rhyn’athel? he wondered. Fialan followed Lochvaur’s gaze to a warrior who fought a heath-stalker. He caught his breath and glanced at Lochvaur — he looked like Lochvaur — or Lochvaur looked like him.

  Yet, even at this distance, Fialan could see a difference. The warrior who stood among the Chi’lan was powerful — more powerful than any creature Fialan had seen before. Light glowed like an aura around him, and he swung a Sword of Power that glowed bright with each cut.

  This is the warrior god.

  Fialan felt the pull of Areyn’s magic. He would soon be unable to resist and have to fight. He turned to Lochvaur, whose face was grim. “That is your father,” he whispered.

  “I know,” said Lochvaur heavily. “And these are my people. I will have to fight both.” He drew his sword — a Sword of Power, Fialan noted — and closed his eyes. “May Rhyn’athel forgive us.” He clapped his legs against the horse and charged forward, swinging the great blade.

  Fialan resisted the pull. How could he fight against his own army? His wife? Pain shot through him, and even as he resisted, Fialan found himself, sword in hand, charging into the Lochvaur and Laddel ranks.

  *****

  A demon saw Lachlei as she rallied her troops. It dove towards her as she rode forward. Rhyn charged, but they were already too far away. Lachlei swung Fyren, slicing into the demon. The heath-stalker shrieked in agony as she cut into the demon’s wing and sent it plummeting to the ground. Lachlei turned her warhorse and charged the demon, leaping off her horse and plunging Fyren into the demon up to her sword’s hilt. She turned, her eyes glowing fiercely bright.

  The warriors rallied. Swords drawn, they charged Areyn’s troops. Then, suddenly, the fighting broke off and the Chi’lan stared in dismay at their adversaries. Lachlei ran forward, Fyren in hand.