Lachlei (17 page)

CHAPTER Thirty-Four

Night passed into day and Fialan gazed at the swollen red sun appearing on the horizon. He stood on the battlements that had been hewn from stone long ago. The shelf above him made a natural shelter, overhanging the battlements and protecting the warriors as they kept watch.

Fialan stared out at that bleak land and thought of Lachlei and his son, Haellsil.

He had accepted that he was dead. Not because of anything Eshe said, or because of his meeting with Lochvaur, but because there simply was no mind-link. It was as though the mind-link had never existed. Gone, too, was his ability to sense things with his mind. Everything was flat and emotionless around him. He felt blind without his powers.

Fialan wondered if Lachlei and his son were all right without him. Lachlei was a survivor, he decided, and she would do everything she could to make certain both she and their son lived. He missed them terribly, but he certainly didn’t wish to see them if that meant they would join him here in Areyn’s realm.

Who would become the next Lochvaur king and Chi’lan champion?
he wondered. Laewynd was the most likely candidate with his political maneuverings, but he was not a first-blood, and he had never aspired to take the crown when he could deal behind the scenes. Being king meant shouldering the responsibility for failures as well as successes. Laewynd preferred manipulation to outright confrontation
—
something unusual for a
Chi’lan
. Laewynd had supported Fialan only to discover that Fialan wouldn’t be manipulated.

Kellachan was certainly the next first-blood in line, if he had had the first-blood powers. But a twist of fate had made him bereft of all first-blood power; just as fate had made Fialan powerful. Fialan’s son, Haellsil, would prove a powerful warrior in due time, but he was yet too young. The only other first-blood was Lachlei.

Fialan smiled at the thought of her being the next champion and queen. Lachlei could do it, if she wanted it. But she had always been satisfied to stay in his shadow. Yet he knew she could have challenged him
—
and maybe won. She was almost as powerful as Fialan, and she had been a
Chi’lan
. Fialan had never discouraged her, yet Lachlei had seemed content to stay away from politics.

Eshe stood beside him and gazed at him. “Was she beautiful?”

Fialan blinked, startled from his reverie. “Lachlei? Why do you ask?”

“You have that faraway look of a man who longs for his home,” Eshe said. She stared out into the barren land. “Lachlei
—
that was the name of your wife, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said. “She is very beautiful and a great warrior.”

“Do you miss her?”

“If I told you otherwise, I would be lying,” he said.

“She can never be with you as long as she is alive,” Eshe said.

A shrill, chilling scream echoed across the battlements. Eshe shivered and pulled her cloak around her body.

“What is that?” he asked. “Demons?”

Eshe nodded and lowered her gaze. “There are no animals here
—
the call you hear is one of the demons seeking victims for Areyn.” She paused. “You are not afraid.”

Fialan lifted her chin with his finger. “Of course I’m not,” he said. “It can’t kill me.”

“It can do much worse
—
when it takes your essence.”

“Then, perhaps, I will be afraid,” Fialan said with a smile. “But not now.”

“How can you be so brave?” she asked. “Have you never feared?”

Fialan met her gaze. “Oh, I have,” he admitted. “Before Areyn killed me, I knew fear such that I had never known.”

“Really? Then, why don’t you fear the demons?”

“Because they can’t destroy me, Eshe,” Fialan said. “They’ve already taken my life, but they can’t destroy what I am anymore than they can destroy you. Don’t you see, Eshe? Lochvaur is right.”

Eshe turned to look over the desert land. “I wish I could accept that. But you’ve never been Areyn’s victim.”

“I haven’t?” Fialan asked wryly.

Silence ensued. “If Areyn slew you, he would’ve feasted,” she said at last.

“As I thought,” Fialan said. He stared into the red sun as it rose. “Eshe, can you see that this is just part of the battle between Rhyn’athel and Areyn? How many
Eleion
were alive after Areyn destroyed the Nine Worlds?”

“Only those who Ni’yah managed to bring behind the walls of
Athelren
,” she said. “Or so they tell me. I was already dead by then.”

“The Truce was to bring us back
—
to give us a chance at life again,” Fialan replied.

“That is what they told us,” she said. “But you have never been to
Athelren
.”

Fialan paused. “Have you?”

Eshe nodded. “Yes, many of the old
Lochvaur
have.
Athelren
was our home, Fialan.”

He stared out at the dead world. “That is why the bitterness,” he said at last.

She smiled ruefully. “You didn’t know?”

“Much of what came before the Battle of the Nine Worlds is lost to us,” he said. “I always thought
Elren
was our home.”

A loud, piercing cry exploded around them. Eshe trembled and collapsed. Fialan knelt beside her huddled form and wrapped his arms around her. “Eshe! Eshe!” he called.

Another scream made him look up. He was looking into the dark eyes of a demon.

The demon was huge, nearly filling the covered battlement. It was black with shiny scales and had a large head like that of a dragon. Snake-like eyes gleamed beneath horned ridges, denoting supernatural intelligence. Its torso was that of a large man, but its lower body was clawed. It had a long, barbed tail like a scorpion and bat-like wings. An impossible fusion of dragon, scorpion, and man.

Fialan drew the ghost blade, but felt Eshe tug at his arm. “You can’t kill it,” she whispered. “Sheathe your sword.”

Fialan glared at the creature. “No. I won’t,” he said. “I won’t lie down like a coward.”

“Spoken like a true first-blood,” the demon said sardonically. Its voice grated in the cold air. “More strength than sense. But I don’t come for you, this time, Fialan. I come for Lochvaur.”

CHAPTER Thirty-Five

“How do you kill a demon?”

Rhyn turned around and stared at Lachlei. She stood in full mail, arms crossed. It was late afternoon, and the army was breaking camp. Rhyn had supervised most of the preparations for the march ahead. They would follow the
Silren
until they caught up with Areyn.

Rhyn grinned. “Demons?”

“You promised me you would show me how you kill demons,” Lachlei said.

“That I did,” he admitted. “But there are no demons here.”

“Not yet,” said Lachlei. “But that will change.”

“Indeed it will,” Rhyn agreed. “But we have some time.”

“Not enough time,” she said crossly. “Now, are you going to show me?”

Rhyn chuckled. “Yes.” He glanced at the sword,
Fyren
, that hung at her side. “May I see your sword?”

Lachlei hesitated. “This was Fialan’s sword,” she said, drawing it and holding it up to the sunlight. The adamantine shone bright, except where a large black stain discolored the blade. “No matter what I try, I can’t remove the discoloration.”

Areyn’s blood. Rhyn’athel smiled inwardly as he gazed at it. Fialan had cut into the death god, as Ni’yah had said. “May I hold it?” he asked.

Lachlei nodded and watched as Rhyn took the blade. At his touch,
Fyren
flashed with a blinding light and glowed. “Sweet gods,” she whispered. “How did you do that?”

Rhyn smiled slyly. “It’s a good blade. The metal is from
Athelren
. It was forged before the Truce.”

Lachlei nodded in amazement and watched as Rhyn made a few experimental cuts in the air. “I thought the stain was the blood of the demon.”

Rhyn nodded. “It is, but this demon is very powerful for it to have stained the metal in this fashion. Although
Fyren
is a good blade, it isn’t a Sword of Power. Lochvaur’s Sword of Power disintegrated when he died. This was Lochvaur’s first blade, before he forged his Sword of Power.”

“How did you know this was
Fyren
?” Lachlei asked.

Rhyn pointed to the runes along the blade. “It says so.”

Lachlei knew the blade was marked, but she was certain Rhyn hadn’t looked to see the blade’s name.
How does he know the blade?
she wondered. Instead, she decided to try a different tact.

“But what of Lochvaur’s Sword of Power?” she began. “How do you…?”

Rhyn’athel chuckled. “Swords of Power were common among the strongest godlings such as Lochvaur. The gods encouraged these Swords because they channeled their power more effectively. The gods actually created similar devices when they weren’t as strong. You may have heard of Runestones or other talismans.”

“The Runestones of Teiwas?” she said. “I thought they were a myth.”

“No myth,” Rhyn said. “But Rhyn’athel created those long before the gods learned to forge Swords of Power. The Swords of Power were the culmination of Rhyn’athel’s earlier works.”

“Must I forge one of these blades?” she asked.

Rhyn shook his head. “You’re not a godling
—
you haven’t the power to forge one. Anyway, there is no fire hot enough in this world anymore to forge one.
Fyren
should work, even though it isn’t a true Sword of Power,” Rhyn replied. “Actually any adamantine blade will work, but the bearer must have enough power to use it.” He handed her the blade. “Hold
Fyren
and concentrate on it.”

Lachlei held
Fyren
in both hands. She stared at the blade, trying to imagine it sparking to life. It felt heavy and cold in her hands. She turned to Rhyn’athel with a puzzled expression. “I feel nothing.”

“Relax,” he said. “Focus on your power.”

Lachlei closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She exhaled slowly and tried to clear her mind. Lachlei became more aware of Rhyn’s presence beside her
—
each breath he took, his nearness…

“Don’t focus on me,” Rhyn said. “On the sword.”

Lachlei smiled slyly. She turned her mind towards the sword, focusing on her power.
Fyren
began to warm in her hands. She opened her eyes and saw it glowing silver-white. She caught her breath.

“Keep focusing,” Rhyn said, his voice stern.

“It takes a lot of power,” she whispered.

“It will.”

Lachlei reached deep within herself. This was the sword she would kill the demon who murdered Fialan. She would take her revenge…

The sword flared with her anger and burned her fingers. She cried out and nearly dropped it in pain and surprise. Rhyn’s hands wrapped around hers as she dropped to her knees.
Fyren
clattered to the ground.

“Lachlei!” he said. “Lachlei!”

Lachlei gripped his hands. They felt remarkably soothing. She did not pull away and looked into his eyes and saw worry. “Rhyn, it burned me…” She turned her hands over and saw no blisters or scars. “What happened?” she whispered.

“You must have tapped your rage,” Rhyn said. “It is a powerful weapon, but one that cuts both ways.”

“You mean my anger can destroy a demon?”

“It could,” he admitted. “But it might destroy you as well.”

“If need be,” Lachlei said.

Rhyn shook his head. “I would not like that,” he said, gently running his fingers through her hair.

It was then Lachlei realized that she was in Rhyn’s arms. He leaned over and kissed her, and for a moment, she responded. In the month that followed Fialan’s death, Rhyn had been beside her, and yet, she had never thought…

“No!” Lachlei pulled herself away.

A mixture of bewilderment and anger flashed across Rhyn’s face, and Lachlei became afraid. The hint of power that she sensed in Rhyn blazed through him like a door that had been cracked open and then shut. Then, he became Rhyn once more. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that.” He released her and she scrambled to her feet. He followed slowly, meeting her gaze.

Lachlei stared.
Did he love her?
She had not given any thought about all the time they had spent with each other. She had thought of Rhyn as a warrior and a friend…

“It’s all right,” she found herself saying, but it sounded false to her ears. She picked up
Fyren
and sheathed the sword. “I’m just very tired and …”

Rhyn’s face was a mask. “It’s all right
—
I understand.”

Lachlei barely heard his words as she turned and fled to her tent.

CHAPTER Thirty-Six

“Lochvaur?” Fialan repeated. He raised the ghost blade above his head in a defensive posture. Perhaps it did not have
Fyren’s
power, but maybe the blade would hold its own.

He felt a steady hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Lochvaur standing beside him. “Easy, Fialan,” the godling said. “I’ve been expecting this.”

Fialan lowered his sword. “What?”

“Flayer, it’s been a long time,” Lochvaur said, facing the demon. “What does your lord want with me?”

Flayer’s teeth shone. “My lord wants to speak to you now. There has been a
change
.”

Lochvaur glanced at Fialan. “I was aware of this change,” he said. “What does that have to do with me?”

“I suggest you ask Areyn Sehduk, yourself.”

“Very well, take me to him,” Lochvaur sighed.

“Wait!” said Fialan. “You’re not going without at least one guard.”

The demon and Lochvaur gazed at him curiously. “A guard?” Lochvaur repeated.

“You can’t go without a
Chi’lan
guard,” Fialan said.

“And who would be my guard?” Lochvaur said. “I can’t promise their safety, nor can they ensure mine.”

Fialan’s gaze steeled. “I’ll go.”

“What are you saying?” Eshe gasped. “Are you insane?”

“Perhaps,” said Fialan. “Perhaps not. But I think I deserve to look on the face of the god who killed me.” He sheathed his sword.

Lochvaur grinned. “Perhaps insane, Eshe, but very brave. I couldn’t ask for a more loyal guard, Fialan.” He turned to Flayer. “Take us both to Areyn now.”

The demon’s jaw opened as though in mocking laughter, but no sound came from it. Instead, it beat its vast wings, and in a sudden rush of darkness both Lochvaur and Fialan were pulled away.

*****

Rhyn’athel had left the encampment and stood within a meadow surrounded by trees. Ancient cairns and rune stones dotted the field. At one time, this had been sacred ground
—
a small temple to the warrior god had stood here. Even now, the place felt clean and unspoiled.

He sat on a smooth stone and gazed up at Sowelu, the sun, feeling its cold rays on his face.
There was much to learn about being mortal,
he decided. Far more than he had thought necessary. Had he been so out of touch with this world in two thousand years?

Never had Rhyn’athel experienced such a confusing mix of emotions: his desire for Lachlei and his determination to not hurt her. It was a frustrating merging of passion and restraint. In an earlier time, there would have been no restraint, and as a god, Rhyn’athel would have appeared to Lachlei and loved her. But the Truce had changed everything. He found himself cursing the very Truce he had sought to uphold.

“Welcome to mortality, brother.” The wolf-god leaned against a large cairn. “You were doing well until you kissed her…”

Rhyn’athel glared. “If Lachlei knew who I was…”

“If Lachlei knew who you were, so would Areyn Sehduk,” Ni’yah reminded him.

“I’m a god
—
the most powerful god in the Nine Worlds
—
and yet, I can’t even woo a woman. It shouldn’t be this difficult.”

“Need some pointers?” Ni’yah asked wryly.

“Lachlei loves me,” Rhyn’athel replied stubbornly. “I could feel it when I kissed her. I know her heart, but she turns from me.”

“Fialan’s ashes are barely scattered,” Ni’yah said. “Even if she knew who you were, I wonder if Lachlei could love you. She loved Fialan deeply.”

“I can’t bring Fialan back,” the warrior god said. “I’m a god of the living, not the dead. The dead are Areyn’s. Even my own son belongs to him.”

“Which makes Areyn Sehduk powerful.” Ni’yah agreed. “Hence, your dilemma.”

“And then, there is the Wyrd,” Rhyn’athel said. “Damn it, Ni’yah! She must be mine, and yet, I can’t have her.”

“You could trick her
—
become Fialan…”

“No.” Rhyn’athel said it so emphatically that Ni’yah fell silent. “I will not stoop to Areyn’s tactics.” He paused. “And besides, Lachlei would know.”

“And there is a chance Areyn would learn of it,” Ni’yah mused. He paused and a wicked gleam entered his eyes. “I’ll talk to her.”

“No!”

Ni’yah grinned evilly. “Yes
—
I’ll talk to her.”

“Don’t you dare…”

“Or what?” the wolf-god laughed.

Rhyn’athel drew his sword.

Ni’yah vanished.