by M. H. Bonham
I am Athel’cen.
Lachlei almost looked at Lochvaur, but forced herself to stare into Areyn’s eyes. Could it be true? Could Lochvaur have been the only Athel’cen who had not been Wyrd-born? Her mind whirled with the knowledge. Rhyn’athel had said Lochvaur had no mother, but she had not understood it until now. Lochvaur was more than a godling — but could he be enough?
“Lachlei?” Areyn asked. He moved closer to her, and she slid instinctively towards Lochvaur and Ni’yah.
“Areyn, I…” Lachlei said, hesitation creeping into her voice. She had one place left to look — the Wyrd, itself. She used her Sight, hoping it would give her a glimpse of the future.
“Lachlei, I can be anything you desire,” he said. He met her gaze. “You know that.”
A vision from the Wyrd flashed before her eyes. She forced herself to look where only Lochvaur had seen. She smiled. Of course.
Lachlei’s gaze narrowed on Areyn. “You’re a clever liar, Areyn,” she said grimly. “I won’t whelp any of your spawn. I am a Chi’lan warrior. I serve Rhyn’athel.”
Areyn’s face twisted in rage. “Then, you will die.”
“So be it.”
With a yell, Lachlei charged. Areyn brought his sword up to parry, but Lachlei spun around and slammed Fyren’s blade into Ni’yah’s shackles and sliced through Lochvaur’s chains in two cuts.
“No!” Areyn bellowed.
Blinding pain ripped through her as she felt the full force of the god’s wrath. She could feel the organs within her burst and the burning coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. She collapsed to the ground, writhing. It would not be long before she entered Tarentor with the other Lochvaur dead.
Was this what Fialan felt when he died? she wondered. And yet she clung to life. She was certain she could not see, but Lachlei watched the battle unfold before her.
Lochvaur leapt up, eyes blazing. Gone were his wounds, and he now wore glowing armor. He drew a Sword of Power and plunged it into Areyn. At the same time, the wolf-god transformed into his Eleion shape. He swung his sword and it cut into Areyn, sharp and quick.
The death god bellowed in pain and rage. Lochvaur pulled back his sword and thrust into the ground, point first. The earth shook, and a gateway opened. A single glowing warrior astride a black dragon flew through the gateway and bore down on Areyn Sehduk. Lachlei’s gaze met Rhyn’athel’s, and for a moment he smiled at her before turning on Areyn.
Areyn recoiled, and his blade parried Teiwaz. Thunder shook the ground as Teiwaz cleaved through the death god’s blade and into his chest. Areyn writhed in terrible pain, and the screams from the god echoed across the plain. Then, they were gone in a flash of light.
Lachlei let the darkness take her and knew no more.
CHAPTER Eighty-Five
Areyn fled across the Wyrd as Rhyn’athel pursued him. The god of warriors brandished his sword as the black dragon flew into the Wyrd through the Fyr. They were now between the worlds where the Fyr and the Wyrd met. The violet flames of the Fyr licked all around them, but Rhyn’athel felt nothing, protected by Haegl’s magic. The flames’ roar was nearly deafening, and it swirled about him in a maelstrom of color and light.
This has to be hurting Areyn, Rhyn’athel shouted over the din.
Haegl grinned, showing all of his very sharp teeth. He fears you more that the pain of the Fyr. Too bad no dragons will bear him. He might have had allies if he had not tried to control us so readily.
Rhyn’athel could barely see Areyn’s form ahead of him. He would try to flee to Tarentor, but even there, there would be no hiding.
Areyn halted in dismay. He stood at the base of the World Tree and turned around. The World Tree was a huge, silver-barked ash. Its branches spread across the roof of the universe, itself. From it, the Web of Wyrd and the flames of the Fyr swirled about its branches and spread across the Nine Worlds.
The pain from the Fyr was intense. Areyn, however, would gladly suffer the pain if only to avoid Rhyn’athel’s rage. The agony that the Fyr wrought was inconsequential in comparison. Areyn knew what his brother could do. He fled towards Issa, not Tarentor, hoping perhaps to trick the warrior god.
You may fool Rhyn’athel, but not for long, came a hated voice. Areyn Sehduk halted and stared into the flames. A Chi’lan warrior emerged with his Sword of Power drawn.
Lochvaur? But how? Areyn began, but saw another Athel’cen emerge from the flames.
Areyn turned and fled as Lochvaur charged, swinging his Sword. Ni’yah, now in wolf form, leapt after the death god. Areyn turned and drew on his power. Dark flames from the Fyr wrapped around both. With a cry, the fire consumed Lochvaur. Areyn laughed. So, the godling sought to destroy him? Areyn Sehduk now turned his full fury on Ni’yah.
You, too, will die… Areyn thrust his dark Sword of Power into the wolf-god, pinning Ni’yah against the trunk of the World Tree. The wolf-god snapped and writhed as the sword twisted in his chest. Ni’yah changed into Eleion form and tried to pull the blade from his chest, but Areyn was too powerful.
A blast threw Areyn backwards and Lochvaur was there. Areyn blinked. The godling was more powerful than Areyn realized. He pulled the blade from Ni’yah’s chest, letting the wolf-god fall to his knees at the base of the World Tree.
Now, Areyn, Lochvaur said coldly. It is time we truly fought.
Fear held the death god as he saw that there was none in the godling’s eyes. Could Lochvaur destroy him?
A shriek and a rush of wings came overhead. Areyn looked up in time to see Rhyn’athel and the dragon bear down on him. Rhyn’athel swung Teiwaz, and it bit deep into Areyn. Areyn screamed and sent wave upon wave of fire at the warrior god. He hit the dragon square on, but the dragon did not halt his charge. Haegl’s teeth closed around Areyn’s form before disappearing into the flames.
Rhyn’athel bellowed and again thrust Teiwaz deep into Areyn’s chest, spearing the god against the World Tree. Blinding pain shook Areyn. He was trapped; he could not escape.
Yield!
No!
The pain became excruciating. Rhyn’athel twisted the blade. Areyn met the warrior god’s gaze as they stood inches apart. Rhyn’athel smiled coldly. Yield, Areyn, or you will find yourself in chains.
No!
You’ve broken the Truce, brother.
Ni’yah broke the Truce.
The Truce was between you and me, Rhyn’athel said. Can you deny it?
Areyn remained silent, the pain slowly pummeling him into submission. No, I swear by the Wyrd Strands, I will keep the Truce.
Not good enough, Rhyn’athel said. My warriors — the Chi’lan belong to me.
And the Laddel, Ni’yah added. Those who serve Rhyn’athel and me belong to us.
Areyn’s eyes focused on Lochvaur, who stood beside his father with arms crossed. Take them! Take those vile creatures!
He heard Lochvaur’s mocking laugher.
And Elren? Ni’yah demanded.
Areyn bared his teeth. The Truce. No more.
Not good enough, the wolf-god said, standing next to Rhyn’athel, opposite of Lochvaur.
Areyn Sehduk met Rhyn’athel’s gaze. And if I were to agree?
The warrior god smiled grimly. Areyn knew what Rhyn’athel was thinking. If you were to agree, then I would have you.
As you do now. It changes naught. If you wish an empty promise, I will give one now. But Elren is still mine if I choose it.
Rhyn’athel pulled Teiwaz from Areyn’s chest. Go, he said. The next time you return to Elren, it will be your last. My sons will see to that.
Areyn fell to his knees. He looked up to see the black dragon looming over him.
Go back to your worlds, Rhyn’athel said in disgust. Areyn, weakened and in pain, fled. The black dragon pursued him to the border of Tarentor.
*****
Ni’yah looked at his brother. You should’ve gotten his word.
Rhyn’athel shook his head. It matters little. He will still fight over Elren until
the end of time. His word means naught. He turned to see Lochvaur gazing at him. We have work to do.
Lochvaur nodded and vanished.
Ni’yah eyed his brother. Elren is too tempting for Areyn Sehduk.
Indeed, said Rhyn’athel. But he now knows I am not afraid to enter the fray. This alone may keep him away from the Fifth World.
Until he thinks he has an advantage.
Until then.
CHAPTER Eighty-Six
Lachlei awoke in terrible pain. She lay in a pool of her own blood. Fyren lay beneath her, broken in two, but her hand was still on its hilt. It must have broken when she cut the adamantine chains that held the gods. Now she lay dying, caked with mud. Not quite dead, but nearly so, she could feel her body tense and then relax in a slow and weird convulsive spasm. She was rapidly fading from consciousness, but instinctively fought as death threatened to close her eyes.
Once or twice, Lachlei opened her silver eyes to stare into the dead face of a Silren warrior. His ice-blue eyes stared vacantly ahead, glazed over in death. His white mane was stained crimson now since his helm was cleaved in two. As far as she knew, he could have been one of many Silren she had killed. Lachlei gazed in pity at her dead adversary.
So, we embrace each other in death, Lachlei thought grimly. For we could not do so in life.
Lachlei’s thoughts turned to Rhyn’athel, Ni’yah, and Lochvaur. They were gone. Perhaps it was just as well, she thought. She had given everything for Rhyn’athel — even at the sacrifice of her own life and the lives of her sons. She hoped that the warrior god had vanquished Areyn Sehduk — perhaps she had given Rhyn enough time.
Where were the healers looking for the wounded? she wondered. Lachlei knew she had led a successful attack, but maybe the Lochvaur kindred had lost. If that were so, then there would be no healers — only carrion and scavengers. It was said that the Silren and Eltar did not bother with their own wounded, let alone the enemy’s.
The Silren warrior could have easily been a Redel, Elesil, or even Lochel, she reflected. If we’re not defending ourselves against the Silren, we’re fighting the Redel, Eltar, Elesil, or any other of the Nine Kindreds. We can’t keep killing each other; there must be a peace.
Lachlei closed her eyes. How ironic that in death, she could see something she had never seen while alive. Her thoughts drifted to her son, Haellsil, and she wondered who would care for him now. Haellsil, who would never know his father, now would lose Lachlei.
Something made her open her eyes again. A dark shape fluttered into view. It took her dying mind a few moments to recognize the shape: a raven. It would be followed by other scavengers: magpies, foxes, crows, wolves, and other opportunists. The raven hopped towards her boldly, cocking its head to one side as if studying her to determine how much of a challenge she would be.
Lachlei grasped the hilt of her broken sword and tried to pick it up. The weight was too great, and it clattered along the ground. She tried again, and this time brought it forward. With all her might, she flung her hand outward, but her fingers loosened, and the sword skittered away out of reach. Lachlei groaned in pain and closed her eyes.
That is hardly any way to greet your lover.
“Rhyn?” she rasped. Lachlei forced her eyes open. “You’re alive…” She tried to focus on the figure that stood before her, but her vision was blurred. She felt his gentle hands slide along her body. The pain was suddenly gone, and her vision cleared.
“You can’t kill an Athel’cen,” Rhyn’athel chided her lightly. “You know that.” The warrior god knelt beside her. “How do you feel?”
Lachlei smiled wryly. “Do you want to know?”
Rhyn’athel’s silver eyes glittered mischievously. “I suppose not,” he admitted. “Taking the brunt of Areyn’s wrath is bad enough for a god — I can’t imagine what it might do to a mortal.” He offered her his hand.
Lachlei took it and found herself pulled into his arms. Rhyn’athel kissed her passionately. “I thought you were lost,” she whispered. “Even Ni’yah couldn’t be sure. Only Lochvaur…”
“Lochvaur is much more than he appears,” Rhyn’athel agreed.
“He said he was Athel’cen,” Lachlei said. “But you said he was Wyrd-blood.”
Rhyn’athel grinned. “Yes, he is both and neither. It’s very complex…” He continued to kiss her.
“Evidently.” She pulled away and looked at him quizzically.
“What is it, beloved?” Rhyn asked. “Something is troubling you?”
“Areyn said that as Athel’cen you couldn’t love,” she said.
“Did he now?” the god of warriors said, kissing her again.
“Rhyn?” Lachlei said as his lips moved to her throat. She pushed him away. “He said you chose me because of the sons I would bear…”
“He told you about the Wyrd prophecy, did he?”
“Then, it’s true…” Lachlei said, feeling her anger rise. “That’s why Ni’yah couldn’t deny it.”
“Areyn is a master at twisting the truth to his own purpose,” Rhyn’athel replied. He traced the lines of her face with his fingers. “Lachlei, I fell in love with you the moment I saw you. The Wyrd prophecy came later — because of my love for you…”
“Then, you loved me before you knew of the prophecy?”
“Oh yes,” he smiled.
“But, you can love? Areyn said…”
“Areyn can’t love, beloved,” he said. “But I can. Areyn speaks of his own experience as Athel’cen — he can’t speak for either me or Ni’yah.”
Lachlei smiled wryly. “I guess I was foolish to listen to him.”
“Not foolish, just unprepared,” Rhyn’athel said. “Many have fallen for Areyn’s lies, I assure you. And some of those have been gods.”
“What happened with the Fyr and what happened when you challenged Areyn?” Lachlei asked.
“Later, beloved,” Rhyn’athel said. “It is time we rejoined our army.” He held Fyren out to her, whole as though it had never been broken. “You’ll need this.”
“Our army?” she said, staring in wonder at the blade.
“Have you forgotten about your army?” came a wry voice.
Lachlei turned and saw Ni’yah sitting on a horse, leading two others. “Ni’yah?” she spoke.
The god grinned. “It seems, lady, I am in your debt. But your army awaits you.”
“The Chi’lan? We were decimated,” Lachlei whispered.
Ni’yah glanced knowingly at Rhyn’athel.
Rhyn’athel shook his head. “No, beloved,” he said. “Your warriors await.”
They mounted their horses and rode forward. Through the smoke, Lachlei could see row after row of Chi’lan warriors. She stared at them and then glanced at Rhyn’athel in wonder. There were faces she recognized, but many she did not. The warriors began to cheer as they rode by.
“Rhyn’athel! Rhyn’athel!”
To her surprise, Lachlei began to hear her own name mixed into the chants. “Lachlei! Lachlei!”
She glanced at Rhyn’athel in wonder. “Why are they cheering me?”
“When you freed Lochvaur and me, you tipped the balance back in our favor,” Ni’yah replied. “Rhyn’athel used much of his power to contain the Fyr, he couldn’t return to fight Areyn without our help.”
Lachlei stared. “Is that true?”
Rhyn smiled slightly. “My brother tends to exaggerate things, but yes, you brought me back.”
Lachlei laughed. “So I did get my revenge after all,” she said.
“Indeed,” said Rhyn’athel, but his gaze was distracted. He reined his horse before a warrior. Lachlei stared at the man who stood before them. It was Lochvaur, but the last time she had seen him, he had either been in chains or as a glowing warrior. Looking on him now, Lachlei stared at the godling in awe. He was nearly as impressive as his father, looking like Rhyn’athel in mortal form. He was a tall Chi’lan warrior with a hardened gaze. Rhyn’athel dismounted his steed. They embraced in the
typical Chi’lan greeting, gripping both arms.
Lochvaur laughed and hugged Rhyn’athel. “Father!” he said.
“I told you I wouldn’t abandon you to Areyn,” Rhyn’athel said.
“I never lost faith.” He paused. “Even if you did need my help.” He turned and nodded at Lachlei. “Lachlei.”
“Lochvaur,” Lachlei said. “I am glad to meet you under less dire circumstances.”
“Indeed,” Lochvaur said, considering her carefully. “So, you are the mortal woman who defied Areyn Sehduk.” He met his father’s gaze, and Lachlei could sense something unspoken passed between the two. “There is someone you should meet,” he said. He turned and nodded to a Chi’lan warrior who stood back among the other warriors.
“Hello, Lachlei,” Fialan said.
CHAPTER Eighty-Seven
Cara stared as an army of warriors, larger than anything she had seen yet, filled Darkling Plain. “By Rhyn’athel’s mane — who are they?” She turned to Haukel, who shook his head.
“They’re not the Braesan,” Haukel said. “They look alive.”
Cara’s eyes scanned the warriors. Red and gold manes and surcoats shone in the sun. “They’re Chi’lan,” she whispered. “But I’ve never seen so many.”
“Not all Chi’lan,” came a familiar voice. “Though I suspect Rhyn’athel considers me one of his warriors.”
Cara turned and saw the Elesil king standing beside her. “Conlan!” she gasped and hugged him. “By the gods! You were dead!”
“Were,” Conlan said. “But not of this world, either. Rhyn’athel forced Areyn to give up his warriors.”
“Areyn has lost the dead?”
Conlan shook his head. “Not entirely. Those who were loyal to Rhyn’athel will return to the Hall of the Gods. And I suppose, those who have aided Rhyn’athel’s cause…”
“Then, you won’t be staying?”
He shook his head. “Not long. I’ve already spoken to Rani, she is now queen of the Elesil.” He eyed her as she lowered her head. “What’s wrong?”