by M. H. Bonham
Rhyn looked at her appraisingly. “What do you know about it?”
“What you’ve told me,” she said. “But I can feel something happening. I can’t describe it.”
Rhyn smiled grimly. “Nor can I. Because it’s never happened before.”
Lachlei closed her eyes, and a vision of whirling fire filled her mind’s-eye. “It’s almost like a maelstrom of fire and light.”
Rhyn had been cinching the girth tighter on his horse. His head snapped around. “You’ve seen it?”
“Just now.” She stared at him. “I’m the focal point, aren’t I?”
Rhyn nodded. “You are.”
“Why?”
Rhyn made no reply. “Come on, let’s ride. The sooner I get you back to the army, the sooner you’ll be safe.”
Lachlei stared at him, but again, Rhyn offered no explanation. She gathered her bedroll and tied it to her saddle. Without a word, they mounted and headed southward, trailed by demons.
CHAPTER Sixty-Eight
Rhyn and Lachlei had ridden most of the morning southward towards the Darkling Plain. They had spoken little, but Lachlei pondered Rhyn’s words. She had seen something of the Wyrd — a maelstrom where she was the focal point. She was certain Rhyn knew why, but the North Marches Chi’lan refused to discuss the matter.
As they rode forward, they entered a small meadow. Something dark lay in the center. At first, Lachlei thought it was a demon, but as they approached, she saw the pity in Rhyn’s face.
The creature was long and reptilian with glossy black scales and four legs. Its wings, battered and torn, lay at awkward angles; Lachlei was certain they were broken. Deep gashes ran down its body as though raked by huge claws. Its massive head lolled to one side, and its jaws were open, exposing sharp teeth. It was longer and much more substantial than the elusive fireworms she had seen occasionally in the Lochvaren Mountains.
“Is that a dragon?” Lachlei asked in wonder.
She stared at the creature. She had never seen a dragon, given that they dwelled in the Eternal Fire and in the Wyrd, itself, but it fit the description of one. Its hot body had melted the snow where it lay and scorched the dried meadow grasses beneath it. The snow that had not melted was bright red with blood.
Rhyn had already dismounted and walked over to the beast. The dragon’s skin was becoming gray. Lachlei dismounted and followed him. She walked over to Rhyn, who knelt beside the creature’s head. Rhyn was saying something in a series of clicks and hisses that she could not understand. The creature answered him in the same language.
“He’s one of the Fyr-dragons,” Rhyn said, glancing up at her. “There must have been a break in the Fyr and he slipped through into Elren, but the journey nearly killed him.”
“A Fyr-dragon?” Lachlei repeated. “You mean he lives in the Fyr?”
Rhyn nodded. “The Fyr is a great power of creation and destruction. Only the Fyr-dragons can live within it,” he said, running his hands along the creature’s scales.
“How do you know its language?” she asked.
Rhyn acted as though he had not heard her question. He continued to touch the creature’s scales as it spoke in its strange language.
“Is it — dying?” Lachlei asked. She felt an overwhelming sadness for the creature — as terrible as it was, it was also beautiful to behold. It opened its cat-like eyes and groaned in pain.
Rhyn frowned and shook his head. “Yes,” he said sadly. “These are creatures that can’t live outside of Fyr for very long. His name is Haegl.”
Lachlei knelt down beside the dragon. She laid her hands on the creature’s skin. It was warm to touch, but she could tell it was rapidly cooling. Haegl, she thought.
The dragon looked into her eyes. Help me, Eleion.
Lachlei started and stared at Rhyn. “Can we heal him?” Dragons and Eleion held no animosity towards each other; in the past, both seemed willing to leave each other be.
“Yes, but it won’t stop him from dying,” Rhyn said. “He can’t live outside the Fyr for long.”
Athel’cen, help me, the dragon said plaintively.
Athel’cen? Was that a plea to the gods? Or did the dragon mistake them for gods? Lachlei turned to Rhyn. “He must be delirious — we must try something.” She placed her hands on the dragon and began to concentrate on its wounds. Rhyn knelt beside her, running his fingers along the dragon’s wounds. They healed under his touch. The dragon’s skin began to darken and grow hotter. Soon, Lachlei could not touch the creature for fear of burning her hands. She watched as Rhyn continued to run his hands along the hot scales.
As she watched, she saw a change come over Rhyn’s face. She saw power flash in his eyes, and the dragon’s body glowed where he touched him.
I only sought to free myself from the Fyr, the dragon said. We belong to the Wyrd as well. Is this so evil?
Rhyn shook his head. No.
Then free us and we will be forever indebted.
“What’s happening? Rhyn?” Lachlei asked, but he did not answer. Instead, a slight smile touched his lips. His eyes glimmered with pity.
Very well, Haegl, you are free.
The dragon lifted his head and met Rhyn’s gaze. You have my deepest gratitude. Dragons do not forget. The dragon slowly stood up and turned to Lachlei. And you, Eleion, I will not forget your kindness. Dragons will remember their life-debt. We will serve Rhyn’athel’s heirs. Call on us in your hour of greatest need.
Lachlei stared. “But you owe me nothing. It was a gift.”
Haegl met her gaze. And so is my promise.
Rhyn and Lachlei backed up, and the black dragon drew itself to its feet. With a roar, the dragon leapt into the air, his wings beating gracefully as he flew northwards.
Lachlei looked at Rhyn in puzzlement. “What was he talking about? Did he think you freed him from the Fyr?”
“Perhaps he did.” Rhyn did not meet her gaze. Instead, he watched the dragon as it flew out of sight.
“That’s impossible,” Lachlei said. “That would take the power of a god.”
“Indeed, it would take an Athel’cen,” Rhyn agreed.
“What did he mean that he would serve Rhyn’athel’s heirs?” Lachlei asked.
Rhyn shrugged. “What do you think it means?” He returned to his warhorse and mounted it.
“Perhaps he meant the Lochvaur — we are all Rhyn’athel’s heirs,” she said.
Rhyn said nothing. Instead, he rode forward. “Let’s get going — we have many miles to cross.”
She stared at him as if looking at him for the first time. “What is wrong with you?” She mounted her horse and spurred it after him. “You’ve been aloof ever since you’ve rescued me. What is wrong?”
“Are you so blinded by anger that you can’t see what I truly am?” Rhyn replied.
“What?” Lachlei said. “You’re a Chi’lan, certainly, and a powerful first-blood.”
“Is that all?”
“I thought perhaps you might be a Guardian.”
“A Guardian,” growled Rhyn. “Weak spirits incapable of anything save perhaps the most rudimentary magic.” He reined his horse and looked at her. “What I did was free the Fyr-dragons from the Fyr.”
Lachlei stared at him. “That’s impossible.”
“Not for me,” Rhyn said. “Damn it, Lachlei! The Chi’lan warriors have figured out who I am, but my own champion is blind!”
“What are you saying? That you’re a god?”
“Who else could kill arch-demons as easily as heath-stalkers? Who else could thwart Areyn’s attempts at trying to capture you or destroy our army? Who else would directly challenge Areyn Sehduk?”
Lachlei laughed. “Really, Rhyn? If you were a god, don’t you think we’d be winning this war?”
Anger flashed in his face. “Areyn is a powerful god — almost as powerful as I am. Lachlei, I became mortal because I love you. I’ve wanted you since you spoke to me the night when Fialan’s pyre lit the sky over Caer Lochvaren…”
“How do you know about that?” Lachlei demanded, staring at him. “You were there?”
“Of course I was there,” Rhyn said. “Areyn murdered Fialan — I couldn’t let that grievance slide — and then I saw you.” He paused. “There isn’t a day that goes by that I haven’t wanted you…”
She gaped at his admission. “Leave!” She drew Fyren.
Rhyn looked down at the blade and smiled grimly. “Do you think that blade would stop me if I decided to take you? With as many opportunities as I’ve had…”
Fear gripped Lachlei. Rhyn — or whatever it was — had opportunities, as recent as the night before. The nights when they had lain together under the stars flashed in her memory. She recalled, ruefully, that she had been attracted to him, despite herself. Perhaps he was a demon — maybe a life-leech or another evil creature. Whatever he was, Rhyn was no god — that she was certain. “Leave me alone, whatever you are. I never want to see you again.”
Rhyn’athel shook his head. “Lachlei, I love you. I loved you since I first saw you, when you swore vengeance against Fialan’s killer. That is what brought me to your side, and now you would take on your most dangerous enemy without me. Lachlei — think this through — this is no ordinary demon you’re fighting. You will be fighting Areyn Sehduk.”
“I know, but I can’t love you.”
“That’s not true,” Rhyn snapped. “I know what you feel inside, but you keep it so buried that you’ve fooled yourself into believing you can never love another.”
“I love Fialan.”
“Fialan is dead! Worse than dead — he’s Braesan, which makes him part of Areyn’s troops. Lachlei, don’t look for comfort from the dead — they do not give it.”
Lachlei’s eyes flashed in anger. “Leave now!”
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” Rhyn said evenly. “I can’t protect you if you send me away now. There are demons trailing us, and only my power keeps them at bay. We’ll argue about this later when we return to the army, but I won’t leave you now.”
“I don’t need your protection, Rhyn,” she replied. “I don’t need you. Leave me alone!”
Rhyn bowed his head. “Lachlei, you don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I do, and you must leave now.”
He met her gaze. “By my own blood, Lachlei, you have your wish. I won’t return. But do not call on me in your darkest hour, for I will not hear your cries.”
Rhyn’athel drew his sword, took it between his hands and raised it above his head. Ille vauri swaerya. Ille athelren!
The sword glowed and in a flash of light, Rhyn’athel vanished.
CHAPTER Sixty-Nine
Lachlei stared in shock at the place where Rhyn and his charger had been. No ordinary Eleion could have disappeared like that. Not even a godling had the power to leave as Rhyn had done. Lachlei could only think of one creature who could have done it.
Do not call on me in your darkest hour, for I will not hear your cries.
Rhyn’s warning chilled her. She stared at the place where he had been, her mind numb and her heart heavy. He had spoken in the god’s tongue, swearing by his own blood he wouldn’t return. His second command had been to Athelren.
Athelren — the home of the gods.
The Chi’lan warriors have figured out who I am, but my own champion is blind…
My own champion… She took a breath and then another. Could he have been…? She couldn’t finish the thought. She began to weep. What had she done to her kindred? What had she done to herself?
Why hadn’t Rhyn told her who he really was?
A demon cry brought her around. She stared into the sky to see a dark winged creature in the distance. Lachlei spurred her horse to a canter and glanced at the creature. Did it see her? Could it sense her presence?
Without Rhyn, Lachlei didn’t know. She scanned the road ahead. The meadow changed to thick pines, but she knew as long as she remained on the road, she would be a target. Going cross-country might save her.
Lachlei turned her warhorse and urged it over the berme, hoping the snow wasn’t deep. The horse stepped and sunk in just above the pastern, so she clapped her legs against its side to step up the pace. The warhorse stepped through the snow carefully, trying not to slip or injure itself.
A scream echoed through the forest, louder now, and Lachlei hoped the demon had no supernatural senses to search for her. She doubted she would be so lucky and closed her eyes to concentrate on shielding herself.
Do not call on me in your darkest hour, for I will not hear your cries.
Lachlei chewed her lower lip. She would normally ask Rhyn for his guidance, and now she had none. I won’t call on you, she silently promised him. The dragon Haegl said he would come to her aid in her time of need, but how could she call him? She tried using mindspeak, but saw and felt nothing. Perhaps the dragon meant that it would aid Rhyn only or perhaps only Rhyn knew how to call it.
Lachlei considered turning into a wolf, but then, she would not have her warhorse or her provisions. She could hunt as a wolf, but she wondered how successful she would be at it. Attacking an Eltar in close quarters was one thing; hunting for scarce food was another. She decided she was better off as an Eleion unless she had to give up her horse.
She was still a first-blood and had powers — perhaps now was the time she used her magic. The strength of the Chi’lan had always been in battle. Without something like a Sword of Power, she could not focus her magic as effectively as she had seen Rhyn do, but she was still powerful — perhaps powerful enough. She took a few more breaths to try to calm the pounding in her ears, but her mouth was dry. She could barely speak the words in the god’s tongue: Illa ara sceadu, galdor lochvarel…
Suddenly, she saw movement on her left. Lachlei drew her sword and turned to see a Chi’lan woman astride a horse with sword drawn. Lachlei sighed in relief and lowered her blade. The illusion did likewise. The magic had worked. She was looking at a replica of herself.
“Vala!” Go! — she ordered the apparition, sending it away from her. The doppelganger was an illusion that would leave no tracks, but she knew demons were not necessarily observant. The illusion turned her horse and rode through the forest at a speed Lachlei was envious of. The screams of the demon were close now, and she spied a copse of thick firs not far from her.
She urged her horse towards them, hoping the boughs would provide some concealment from above. As her warhorse approached the trees, the snow became deep, and the horse balked. She leapt from the saddle and plowed into thigh-high snow. She grasped the reins and pulled her horse forward into the thicket.
Her first-blood senses alert, she could feel rather than see the demon as it passed. She could do nothing to hide her tracks, but perhaps it would not see them from that far above. She concentrated on an impregnable shield to conceal herself. As she did, she felt the cold grip of the demon.
It was not a heath-stalker as she had hoped, but an arch-demon. She felt it as it casually inspected her shield. The demon considered it as though it was not completely certain if she was there or not. Then, she heard a triumphant cry and a flurry of wings as the demon raced away after the doppelganger.
Lachlei shivered violently. She was drenched with sweat, which her padded arming shirt had soaked up. The cold wind blew through her, and her fingers were growing numb. “By Rhyn’athel’s sword…” she muttered and then stopped herself. She doubted Rhyn’athel would show much mercy to her now.
She leaned against the warhorse and it whickered softly. She pulled off her leather gauntlets and ran her hands over the horse’s hide. It was good to feel the animal’s warmth and the painful tingling in her fingers told her she was restoring circulation. She slid her gauntlets back on and considered her options.
It was a fine time for her to order Rhyn to leave, she admitted. But the anger had been smoldering for some time. Perhaps it had been seeing Fialan again or watching Rhyn dispatch Braesan with such callousness. Perh
aps it had been his advances towards her, when he knew she still loved Fialan. Perhaps it had been her reaction to him. She had wanted him, despite herself. He had voiced the tension both of them had felt.
Was Rhyn truly a god? She had laughed in his face at the claim, yet now she was not so certain. There were only three Athel’cen. Could he have been Rhyn’athel? She recalled the battles they fought; each time, Rhyn used power beyond anything she had ever seen. Lachlei had explained it away that he was a talented first-blood, nothing more. Yet, looking back on his powers, she had known all along that he had done more than any mortal.
Her first clue should have been the Sword of Power, she decided. No Sword of Power existed, save Laddel’s. It had passed through her at one point, leaving her unscathed. She had chosen to ignore it at the time — why? The Sword of Power should have cut her in half and yet, it had not touched her. He had destroyed Areyn Sehduk’s defenses and brought utter destruction on the Braesan. Furthermore, Rhyn’s Sword had the warrior rune carved in its blade: Teiwaz. God-Warrior. Rhyn’athel.
Lachlei closed her eyes and shivered again. Why had she been so blind? Was what Rhyn said true, that all the other Chi’lan had long ago recognized him? If so, they must have thought her foolish. Perhaps she had let her anger cloud her judgment. She had been angry at Areyn for killing her husband and Rhyn had been the only one to lash out at. Her feelings towards Rhyn had further complicated matters and made her angrier yet. In her anger and resentment, she had driven him away, demanding that he leave her.
Do not call on me in your darkest hour, for I will not hear your cries.
Was she no longer Rhyn’athel’s champion? Had he truly forsaken her? She resisted the urge to pull off her gauntlet and pull back the sleeve of her mailshirt and arming jacket to see if the mark was gone. She did not need to know this right now. She shivered again, but this time grasped her horse’s reins and began the slow, agonizing trudge through the deep drifts. Forsaken or not, she would die of exposure if she did not continue.
Rhyn had told her they were a day and night away from the army, but that had been at his pace, on a road, and without dodging demons. She guessed that she was forty or fifty miles from her army — maybe farther. At this rate, it was unlikely she would make ten miles in a day. She didn’t dare take the road — that would be the first place the demons would look for her.