by M. H. Bonham
Lachlei had enough food and water for three days or maybe longer if she stretched the rations as far as she dared. She did not have a bow, so hunting was unlikely. After that, she could survive a week or better if the snow held out or if she could find water. Assuming she could find the army in that time and Areyn had not destroyed them.
The snow became less deep, and Lachlei stomped her feet to try to restore circulation in her toes. Her leather boots and breeches were soaked. Still, riding was better than walking, and she slid a numb foot into a stirrup and swung herself into the saddle.
Another scream from above told her that the demon had discovered her ruse. Lachlei cursed. She had not expected the demon to return so soon. She urged the horse onward, unwilling to search for another hiding place just yet. She concentrated and sent another doppelganger out, hoping to confuse the demon.
The screams grew louder, and without Lachlei’s urging, the warhorse broke into a gallop. Lachlei turned and saw the demon overtaking her. She drew Fyren and twisted in the saddle in time to slash at the demon as it bore down on her.
At that moment, two things happened. Fyren bit deep into the demon and the warhorse passed under a snag. The boughs smacked Lachlei hard, throwing her off her steed and into a snow bank. She tumbled and lay stunned.
The demon, angry and wounded, landed nearby. It considered Lachlei as she lay motionless in the snow. Lachlei groaned and fought to keep conscious. She could see the slavering creature as it clicked its beak together in pleasure at seeing her so incapacitated. Lachlei moved her leg and cried out, nearly blacking out from the pain. It did not take her first-blood senses to know it had twisted and broken in several places. She could not flee, and Fyren lay many yards away.
Lachlei pulled her dagger from its sheath. It was woefully inadequate, and given it was what she had, she decided to try another tactic. Demon, she mindspoke to it. Why do you come for me?
The arch-demon hesitated and laughed. The horrible grating sound hurt her head, and Lachlei winced. Perhaps this had not been her best idea, she thought ruefully. She slid her hand against her broken leg and concentrated.
Why do you come for me? she persisted.
Lord Areyn wants you brought to him. The demon replied.
Lachlei felt the bones begin to knit in her leg. Why does Areyn want me?
The demon laughed again. The tenor was decidedly more unpleasant. You will find out, mortal woman.
Really? To kill me as he killed Fialan? I would’ve thought he’d send a second-rate lackey like you to dispatch me.
Not to kill…the demon said and gazed on her hungrily.
Lachlei suppressed a shudder. Instead, she met the demon’s yellow eyes. How far was she away from Fyren? Could she get to the sword before it could stop her?
You don’t frighten me, she mindspoke to it. She shifted her legs slowly to try to get her feet under her. Areyn doesn’t frighten me. Go tell your master I serve Rhyn’athel.
The demon laughed again. A strange way to serve the warrior god by sending him away, the demon said. You can explain that to Areyn when you satisfy him.
A knot twisted in her stomach at the mention of Rhyn’athel. What makes you think you’ll be able to capture me? A second-rate, soul-less lackey that has less worth than the filth on my boots…
The demon snarled and leapt at her.
Lachlei was on her feet, slashing at the demon, focusing all her power into the adamantine blade. The creature screamed as the dagger buried into it up to the hilt. Its massive tail thrashed and slammed her to the ground. Holding her with one talon, it pinned her to the earth, claws digging into her.
I grow tired of this little game, mortal, it sneered and yanked the dagger from its chest.
Lachlei screamed as she felt the burning poison enter her. The poison was like fire in her veins, and she writhed uncontrollably. As she opened her eyes, Lachlei saw Fyren several yards beyond. She reached out in desperation. “Fyren!” she screamed.
Suddenly, the sword was in her hand. She could not see it any more, blinded by the poison, but felt its familiar hilt. The demon shrieked as she thrust the blade upward, holding onto it with all her strength. Black demon blood poured around her. Her last cognizant image was of the demon falling on top of her. Lachlei fell unconscious.
CHAPTER Seventy
Lachlei awoke cold and sick. How long she lay beneath the demon, she had no idea. She was soaked with blood and melted snow. She tried to move slowly, but every nerve screamed in agony. It was the poison — fortunately, this demon had used it with the intention to sedate her, not kill her. She thought back to Rhyn when he had taken a full shot of demon’s poison. She had healed him then, but now she suspected that Rhyn had helped her quite a bit — no one recovered from those terrible injuries that fast. Not even a first-blood.
Lachlei groaned and pushed the demon off her. Despite the gore, the demon had inadvertently saved her life by falling on top of her when it died. The heat from its massive body had kept her from freezing to death. She sat up and began retching uncontrollably; her stomach emptied its contents. After a few minutes, she stopped when there was nothing left but bile. She knew it was the poison that made her so ill.
Lachlei looked around. It was late afternoon by the long shadows of the trees. There would be other demons looking for her now that she had slain an arch-demon. She stared at the creature’s bulk, still smoldering hot against the grass. It had melted the snow around them. As she looked at the creature, it began disintegrating. She stood up and staggered. For a minute, her body threatened more retching fits, but it subsided. She focused on shapeshifting into a wolf, but it took too much power and left her feeling sick and exhausted. She had to find shelter — a place to make a fire and dry her clothing before she froze to death. Without food, she doubted she would have enough energy to do much anyway.
Is this how Rhyn intended her to die? Sick from demon poison; cold and alone? Lachlei inadvertently recalled the nights she had spent in his arms, so close to loving him, and yet, so distant. Despite herself, she missed him terribly.
“Rhyn,” she whispered. “Forgive me. I spoke rashly.”
Do not call on me in your darkest hour, for I will not hear your cries.
Lachlei nodded. She did not expect forgiveness. She searched for her dagger and found it lying on the ground, not far from her. She pulled Fyren from the arch-demon’s fading corpse and smiled grimly, looking at its blade. Rhyn had said its adamantine came from Athelren — of course, it would slay demons. Areyn had felt its bite as well, she thought. The evil she had sensed along the darkened blade could only be Areyn Sehduk.
Her enemy.
She looked at Fyren and thought of Athelren, something nagging at her poison-addled brain.
Ni’yah.
There were three Athel’cen. Rhyn had said that all three Athel’cen were in Elren. If the Laddel had been involved, certainly Ni’yah had been with them. Her mind brought forth the image of Telek. So like Rhyn, and yet, different. She had seen the sibling likeness and thought that Telek and Rhyn were related somewhere by blood. Each time she had seen Telek, she had seen Rhyn conversing with him. Of course, they had been brothers.
Odd that only once had she actually heard a portion of their conversation and they had broken it off. Rhyn had been exhausted then from destroying the Braesan and Telek had been distracted. Even so, they would slip in their familiarity with each other in front of her. Their conversations about the demons seemed odd then, but made sense now that Lachlei knew who they were.
Ni’yah was the god of her mother’s kindred, the Laddel. Ni’yah had been her mother’s god. Lachlei, having been raised with the Lochvaur, had been a follower of Rhyn’athel, not the wolf-god. But she was half Laddel and a first-blood of Ni’yah. She closed her eyes and concentrated on Telek.
“Ni’yah!” she whispered. “Wolf-god, I’ve never prayed to you, but I do so now. Rhyn’athel has abandoned me through my own fault and will not hear me. If you have any pity
for Rhyn’athel’s fallen champion and your kinsman, aid me.”
The cold wind whispered its reply.
Lachlei stumbled to the edge of the melted ground, scooped up a handful of slushy snow and shoved it into her parched mouth. Survival was the first step. She could cut a lean-to with her dagger, but she doubted it would give her much protection against demons should they come around again. She scanned the area, but she could see little of the terrain in the dense pines. Still, she suspected higher, rocky crags might be more defensible and would provide adequate shelter against the wind.
She turned and walked parallel to the road. Her horse was gone and she doubted she’d be able to find it again in so much timber, assuming the demons hadn’t killed it. She could see rocky crags not far from where she stood. She followed the ridgeline, trudging through calf-deep snow, her feet becoming numb. In the waning light, she could now discern that the rocks ahead were not a natural formation, but ruins from an earlier time.
A lone howl rose up from somewhere in the fading light. It was close. Lachlei felt a supernatural chill run through her. She hesitated and drew Fyren once more. Using her powers, she tried to sense the presence out there, but sensed nothing — not even a wolf. She stared at dark forms of the trees and shuddered. Her cold mind must be playing tricks on her, she decided.
She made her way up the small hill to the ruins and halted. The stones were flat gray and stood like sentinels of an age long past. This had been a small shrine to the gods of light. It was very ancient and covered with dead vines and snow. She walked over to the shrine and dug away some of the vines with her cold fingers. The runes marked this clearly as an Athel’cen shrine — a shrine to Rhyn’athel and Ni’yah. As she traced the runes with her fingers, she could still feel the power within their cuts. It offered sanctuary.
Lachlei breathed a sigh of relief. The runes were of another age — a time before the Truce that somehow survived the Fyr. The power was of that age, ancient and terrible. Back then, Eleion fought Jotunn and demons; the ward glyphs held a magic lost to all, save the gods and the Braesan. Legends said those runes were wards against demons. Perhaps Ni’yah had heard her prayers.
Lachlei turned and walked to the nearest thicket of spruce trees. The bows on most were springy, but she found one with dead branches, snapped them off and carried them back into the ruins. She walked in and dropped her small bundle of wood. The shrine had been small, maybe ten feet by six at the most. The roof was long gone — probably thatch or some other material — as was the altar where offerings were left to the gods. Snow filled the little chamber, and Lachlei was forced to kick and scrape the snow back to the stone floor beneath. She was surprised to see the floor intact and the runes still marked as though carved recently.
She ran her fingers along the runes, feeling their power. These too were ward glyphs. Before the Truce, Guardians had roamed the world, many settling in the shrines of the gods they served. Lachlei recalled ruefully how she believed Rhyn had been a Guardian. The Guardian of this shrine could have imbued the runes with its own magic to prevent demons or other evil creatures from entering or destroying this shrine.
Another howl, this time farther away. Lachlei paused and listened. Wolf cries had never been a cause for concern, yet now, something within her memory told her that these were. Lachlei shivered, her fingers stiff as she laid the wood on the floor. She touched the branches. “Solu!” The wood caught fire, and she stripped her gauntlets from her hands.
“By Rhyn’athel’s mane,” she exclaimed. The flesh of her fingertips was white, signaling frostbite. She pulled her boots off and looked at her feet, finding them mottled white as well.
The howl came again, this time joined by another and another. Lachlei shivered and gazed into the darkness beyond the shrine’s threshold.
Something was wrong. Lachlei’s senses told her that this was no ordinary wolf pack. If Rhyn had been here, he would have known exactly what she was hearing. But, she reminded herself, Rhyn was gone and she was alone. Instead, she touched the ward glyphs that guarded the threshold, hoping to activate their magic. She tried to recall the old stories of howling — of demon wolves that searched for their prey.
Demon wolves — that sounded familiar, but why? Lachlei closed her eyes, trying to concentrate, despite her cold. The arming shirt was becoming stiff and heavy with ice, but she did not dare remove her armor. She pulled her cloak off, laid it by the fire, and sat on it. She was hungry and hypothermic, but had nothing to maintain her energy.
The howling brought her around. Demon wolves — what were they? Wolves of Areyn. Dire Wolves. She threw another branch on the fire and tried to think. She was so cold.
Rhyn, I’m sorry.
With her cold, came exhaustion. Despite herself, she felt her eyes slowly close. She did not see the glowing eyes in the forest beyond.
CHAPTER Seventy-One
“Now, what do we do?” Cara asked. She sat in a tent with Conlan and the Lochvaur and Laddel lords. After the Chi’lan and Laddel troops materialized on Darkling Plain before the Elesil, all agreed to parley and plan their next strategy. “The Undead will surely come back and Areyn Sehduk has control of my kindred.”
“We don’t know if the Braesan will return,” Conlan said. “With the show of force that we’ve seen, I would think it would cause the death god to pause and rethink his strategy.”
“Rhyn isn’t here,” Telek said. “He’s gone after Lachlei.”
Kieran frowned. “Can he rescue her?”
“If anyone can, it’d be Rhyn,” Cahal stated. “The problem is, how long could it take and why does Areyn want Lachlei?”
Telek smiled ruefully. “Rhyn is up against Areyn’s strongest magic — he’ll have difficulty finding her.”
“Assuming she’s alive,” Conlan said. “Your Rhyn could be riding into a trap.”
“Lachlei is alive,” Telek said before the Lochvaur could object. “Areyn will only kill her if presented with no other options. Lachlei is the focal point in this war.”
Laddel stared at his sire. “You never told me that.”
“You didn’t ask, and I wasn’t in the mood to tell you,” Ni’yah remarked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Cahal spoke up. “What matters is that we’re forced to fight the Braesan. They wait; they bide their time. They will attack us again with greater numbers.”
“I saw Fialan,” Kieran remarked. “He told me that he was dead.”
Laddel nodded grimly. “They use our own dead against us.”
Cara stared at them. “How can we win when we fight our own warriors?”
All eyes turned to Telek. The god took in a deep breath. “I am not as powerful as Rhyn. Areyn planned that assault carefully and managed to hold back Rhyn’s powers.” He paused and met Laddel’s gaze. “It wasn’t our intent to show our powers this soon.”
“And why not?” Cahal said. “Let’s end this charade. We all know who is here.”
Ni’yah smiled wryly. “Is that so, my young Lochvaur?” He looked around and saw confirmation on the Eleion’s faces. “I would be careful voicing your thoughts so openly. You don’t want the war Rhyn and I would give you. It would mean a total unmasking of all power. The Eleion have not seen such horror in nearly two thousand years.”
Silence ensued.
“Then, what do we do?” Laddel asked. “Fight until each of us are slaughtered and turned to Braesan? I, for one, have no desire for that fate.”
Ni’yah stood up and gripped his son’s shoulder. “No, I wouldn’t ask you to do that. We need to hold on for a little longer. Rhyn and I have a plan.”
“How much longer?” Cara asked. “They’re twenty miles away. Our scouts already have seen Areyn’s demon wolves and other more foul creatures…” She stared as Ni’yah suddenly stood up.
“What is it?” Laddel asked as he saw the wolf-god’s lip lift in a snarl. “Demons?”
“May the Fyr take him!” Ni’yah snarled. “Damn Athel’cen and that stubborn
creature whom I call brother!”
“What’s wrong?” Cahal asked.
Ni’yah ignored Cahal. “I must leave now,” he said to Laddel. “It’s too complex to explain, but if I don’t Lachlei will die.”
“What of our armies?” Laddel asked.
“Do what you can — my shield should protect you.” With that, Ni’yah leapt through the tent flap. He turned into a wolf in mid-air and loped across the Darkling Plain.
*****
Lachlei awoke to growling. The fire had died and she lay on the blanket freezing and shaking. The terrible cold had made her delirious and exhausted. She wondered why she was even awake — those who suffered from hypothermia fell into a sleep, never to awaken again.
The growling continued and Lachlei reached for Fyren’s hilt. As far as she could tell, she was still in the little shrine, curled up and shivering. She lifted her head and groaned. Everything took energy from her body — energy she did not have. And yet, the growling continued.
She forced herself to sit up and use her Sight. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. She looked out of the threshold and saw dozens of glowing eyes and stumbled to her feet. Her numb feet were bare from when she had taken off her boots. Pain shot through her, and she nearly doubled over. Lachlei looked down and saw her feet were mottled white and her toes were turning black as if terribly bruised. She cursed herself. She should have put her boots and stockings back on once they had dried. Now she could not run — she could not even walk — and she doubted she could fight. Lachlei glanced at her hands — she had left them bare too, but had tucked them against her body. She at least had their use.
So, Rhyn, this is how I die, she thought bitterly. Half frozen and eaten by Areyn’s demon wolves.