Lachlei (11 page)

CHAPTER Twenty-Two

“Quite showy, wasn’t it?” Ni’yah remarked as Rhyn’athel followed the warriors down the hill to the mead hall. After Lachlei had won the fight, Laewynd had placed the circlet on Lachlei’s head and pronounced her queen of the
Lochvaur
. Lachlei accepted the title and led the warriors back to Caer Lochvaren.

The two gods walked together at the back of the crowd; their conversation concealed from anyone who might listen in. If anyone had paid attention, they would have seen Rhyn speaking with another
Lochvaur
.

“They needed a sign
—
I gave them one,” Rhyn’athel replied dismissively. “Lachlei is my champion. She’s proven herself
—
Kieran was a tough opponent.”

“With a little help from you,” Ni’yah remarked.

Rhyn’athel caught his gaze and held it. “Lachlei defeated Kieran on her own. I merely encouraged her.”

Ni’yah grinned. “She’s good, isn’t she?”

“She’s a better fighter than I expected,” Rhyn’athel admitted. “But she’s inexperienced.”

“Her first-blood capabilities are equal to Fialan’s,” Ni’yah said. “I was disappointed when Lachlei chose to marry him
—
of all
Laddel’s
progeny, she’s shown the most promise.”

Rhyn’athel looked at him, arching his eyebrow. “I believe you’re disappointed she’s
Lochvaur
.”

 “She’s half
Laddel
and has more of my blood in her than yours. How many generations removed from Lochvaur is she?”

“Ten.”

“At least ten. She should’ve had silver hair and golden eyes, if it hadn’t been for those damn dominant traits of yours…”

Rhyn’athel chuckled. “She’s shorter than a
Lochvaur
ought to be. Can she transmute?”

Ni’yah shrugged. “I don’t know
—
she’s never tried. I don’t think she knows her full capabilities.”

The two gods walked down the hill to the open gate. Ni’yah stopped and gave his brother a measuring look. “Once in a while, the Wyrd weaves a strange pattern that none of us can fathom. Have you looked at the Wyrd lately?”

Rhyn’athel shook his head. “Not in its entirety since becoming mortal, why?”

Ni’yah looked above them and nodded. The warrior god followed his brother’s gaze, seeing the slender filaments of the Wyrd as they made up the fabric of the world. “I’ve seen only a few times when the Wyrd behaved like this. One was with Lochvaur; the other was with our own creation within the Wyrd.”

“Are you saying that Lachlei affects the Wyrd?”

“I’m saying that with three
Athel’cen
, our appearance has changed the very fabric of the Wyrd. Lachlei is more than simply a pawn; she may be a player…”

Rhyn’athel frowned. “Then, she may control our fate.”

“And the fate of the Nine Worlds,” Ni’yah said. “You were wise to make her your champion.”

Rhyn’athel stared ahead at the guards at the gate, but his mind was on Lachlei. “It is more than that,” he admitted.

Ni’yah nodded. “Indeed, my brother.”

Rhyn’athel looked at Ni’yah in mild annoyance. “Don’t you have work to do with the
Laddel
?”

Ni’yah chuckled. “I suppose I do.” He vanished, leaving the warrior god to continue though the gates of Caer Lochvaren.

*****

The mead hall was dark with only a faint glow from the firepit when Rhyn’athel entered. Most of the warriors had fallen asleep beside the fire with only a few still awake. Lachlei sat at a table near the fire beside Cahal. She looked up as the god entered and smiled.

She had not seen Rhyn since her fight with Kieran. Lachlei had removed her armor and was now wearing a simple tunic and breeches. Her forearms were bare, and she gazed at the dragon marking on her arm: the mark of Rhyn’athel. She smiled as she saw him enter.

“Where have you been?” she asked.

Rhyn’s silver eyes glittered in the dark. “I had some unfinished business.” He sat down beside her, and his gaze fell on the dragon mark. “Does it still hurt?”

“A little,” she admitted and then looked at him curiously. “How do you know it hurt?”

Rhyn smiled wryly. “It looked like it hurt.”

Lachlei gazed at him in puzzlement. “You know, Fialan never had the mark of Rhyn’athel,” she said. “But Fialan wasn’t challenged, either.”

Rhyn slid his fingers along the mark. Lachlei suppressed a shiver as he touched the darkened skin. His touch was feather-light and gentle as he traced the mark. The pain subsided and he withdrew his hand. “You did very well against Kieran,” he said.

She met his gaze. “I must thank you for the information,” she said. “I don’t think I would’ve had an advantage otherwise.”

“Do you believe that?”

Lachlei shook her head. “I don’t know what I believe anymore,” she admitted. “I thought I didn’t want the crown.”

“It’s not what you expected.”

“No. I thought most of what Fialan did was placate Laewynd and the Council. I had no desire for politics.” She stared at the firepit. “I always assumed I was a warrior, Rhyn, even when I chose to become Fialan’s consort and drift into the background. I felt more comfortable with the
Chi’lan
than I did at the affairs of state.”

“It is one thing to win the crown; it is quite another to hold it.”

 “Fialan used to say that.” She smiled sadly.

“Did he? So, if you didn’t want the crown, why insist on it?”

Lachlei shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I know that Kieran, for all his strength as a warrior, doesn’t have first-blood powers. The demon that killed Fialan is still out there. The
Lochvaur
don’t need a politician, Rhyn. They need a champion
—
a first-blood
— one who could take on a demon. Maybe someone like you.” She considered him thoughtfully.
Rhyn would make a great king,
she decided. He was a powerful first-blood, if enigmatic. “Why didn’t you try for the throne?”

Rhyn shrugged. “Rhyn’athel chose you.”

“Indeed, and maybe I am that champion, but I don’t know. A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have believed it, but now, I’m not sure.”

“What changed your mind?”

“I think Rhyn’athel spoke to me.”

 “The warrior god?”

She grinned foolishly. “Sounds idiotic, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Rhyn said quickly. “What did he say?”

“He reminded me I was first-blood,” she said. She fell silent and stared for a while at the mark. “I don’t know why Rhyn’athel chose me,” she said. “I never thought I would’ve made a champion. There are other warriors with far more experience
—
who are better fighters than I.”

“But none with first-blood powers,” Rhyn reminded her.

“No, none. Save you,” she said. “Rhyn, my inexperience nearly killed me, but my first-blood powers saved my life.” She shook her head.

“Lachlei, there have been greater
Eleion
born of godling blood, who have shown less strength and determination than you,” he said, taking her hands in his own. “And there are heroes within
Eleion
history who had not a drop of gods’ blood in their veins. The Wyrd hands us the fate we must deal with. It is our choices and our resolve that decide whether or not we are great.” He pulled her hands to his lips and kissed them before releasing her. He met her gaze. “Go to sleep, my queen. You are Rhyn’athel’s champion.”

Lachlei stood up slowly, touching the hand where Rhyn had kissed her. “Thank you,” she murmured as she slipped quietly towards the door that led to her chambers. She paused, still feeling his gaze before leaving the room.

The glow from the fireplace was the only light in her chambers. Lachlei had thought the quarters were too small when Fialan was there; now it seemed extraordinarily huge. In the dim light, Fialan’s weapons and extra armor cast shadows across the room. Sparsely furnished, there was not much more than a table and chairs sitting on a thick carpet of rushes. Beside the fire, Wynne sat, holding Lachlei’s son wrapped in a warm blanket.

Wynne’s brass eyes reflected the flames as she looked up at the queen. Wynne was from the
Laddel
kindred, the clan of Lachlei’s mother. Wynne had come with Ladara many years before when the
Laddel
princess agreed to become the consort of a
Lochvaur
prince. Even after Ladara’s death in battle, Wynne had chosen to stay with Lachlei. Now, she cared for Lachlei’s son and she had cared for Lachlei.

“Wynne…” Lachlei began.

Wynne put a finger to her lips. “He just fell asleep,” she said, beaming at the infant. She stood up slowly and walked over to Lachlei, who beamed at her son. The baby held a braided tress from Wynne’s wolf-gray hair. Lachlei gently removed the lock and gazed into the child’s face.

“He looks like his father,” Lachlei remarked, taking Haellsil from Wynne’s arms. The baby yawned and nestled deeper into the warmth of the blanket.

“That he does,” Wynne replied.

Lachlei closed her eyes and turned away. “He’ll never know his father.”

Wynne shook her head. “You knew the risk, being
Chi’lan
,” she replied. “Ladara did when she chose your father.”

“A lecture, Wynne?”

“A reality, Lachlei. Those born to the warrior god’s kindred are short lived because of the life they choose.”

“The
Laddel
are no better.”

“No, we’re not, and that makes you doubly cursed, perhaps,” she said. “I worry that Haellsil may not know his mother, either.”

“That is a risk,” Lachlei replied. She walked over to the baby’s crib and gently laid him down. She was greeted with a soft whine and a tail thump from Strang, Fialan’s warhound. She knelt down and ran her hands through the warhound’s coarse red fur. “Strang,” she whispered as the big war dog licked her. “Do you miss your master?” The dog looked up at her with soulful eyes. “I do, too,” she admitted.

“I heard about the fight between you and Kieran.” Wynne leaned in the doorway.

Lachlei shrugged. “He challenged my right.”

“I thought you didn’t want the throne.”

Lachlei shook her head but said nothing.

“It’s that new
Chi’lan
, isn’t it?”

“What makes you say that?” Lachlei said a little too sharply.

“I know you better than you think,” Wynne said. “He’s a handsome one.”

Lachlei stared at Wynne. “I can’t believe you,” she whispered. “Fialan is barely dead…”

“And you are alone,” Wynne remarked.

“I can take care of myself.”

“No one is denying that,
Chi’lan
Lachlei,” Wynne replied. “But you are taking on more than anyone expects you to. What is his name? Rhyn, is it?”

“Wynne…”

The
Laddel
woman met Lachlei’s gaze. “What happened?”

Lachlei bared her right arm. “Wynne
—
I’ve been chosen.”

Wynne stared at the dragon mark. “By the wolf’s fur,” she whispered. “Rhyn’athel has chosen you?”

Lachlei nodded. “I’m now his champion.”

Wynne hugged her gently. “May the warrior god protect you,” she said with a smile. “Then, I believe that Rhyn was sent.”

“Sent?” Lachlei asked, looking at the nurse in puzzlement.

“A Guardian, perhaps, or a spirit guide,” Wynne said.

Lachlei laughed. “He seems
Eleion
enough to me.”

“Perhaps.” She smiled. “If you won’t be needing me?”

Lachlei nodded. “Good night, Wynne.”

Wynne nodded and left Lachlei’s private chambers. Lachlei walked to the door and for a moment thought about opening the door to see if Rhyn was still awake. Instead, she locked the door and walked to her bedroom; Strang following her faithfully. She lay down, letting the warhound lay beside her and ran her fingers through its coarse hair. As she fell asleep, her last thoughts were of Rhyn.

CHAPTER Twenty-Three

Lachlei strode towards the hall of the
Lochvaur
High Council. As queen and Rhyn’athel’s champion, none could dispute she had the right to demand the army. The night before burned in her mind just as the mark of the warrior god burned in her skin. All who saw her now met her gaze in deference. She was Rhyn’athel’s champion.

Movement beside her stirred her from her thoughts. Lachlei turned to see Rhyn walking silently next to her. She smiled, despite herself. The North Marches
Chi’lan
shadowed her almost as much as Cahal did now. She welcomed his presence.

“Rhyn,” she chided lightly. “I was unaware I was in need of a bodyguard.”

“The queen shouldn’t go anywhere without one of the
Chi’lan
,” Rhyn replied.

Lachlei scowled. “Cahal sent you.”

 “And if he did, would you send me away?”

She smiled coyly. “Perhaps I should.”

“I don’t think Cahal would like that.”

Now, Lachlei scowled. “Go back to Cahal and tell him that I don’t need protection.” She turned and walked away. Rhyn followed, much to her irritation. She turned and glowered at him, seeing a slight smile on his lips. “Are you going to ignore a direct order?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I should…” She fell silent, trying to think of something.

Rhyn’s smile grew wider. “You’ll what? Fight me?”

Lachlei laughed. “Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Fight you.”

“You’d lose.”

Lachlei sobered and eyed him. “I would, would I?”

She considered him for the first time as a potential opponent. He was tall and muscular, but not so tall that his height would be a handicap in a fight. She had seen no apparent weakness in his stride or either side. Cahal told her that he handled a sword in both hands with ease. At another time, before Fialan, Lachlei would have found him desirable. “How did you best Tamar?”

Rhyn shrugged. “Tamar was drunk and sloppy
—
I was not.”

She paused as her gaze fell on the Sword of Power that hung at his side. “I never properly thanked you for your help through this,” she said, drawing closer to him. “You have been invaluable to me, Rhyn. If there is anything…”

A flicker of emotion glinted in the
Chi’lan’s
eyes, but it flitted so quickly that she was unable to read it. He smiled. “It is my privilege to serve Rhyn’athel’s champion,” he said.

Lachlei could feel her pulse quicken as they stood facing each other. She glanced down at the Sword of Power. The rune of
Teiwas
— the rune of Rhyn’athel
—
carved into the hilt, caught her attention. “So, tell me how you came by a Sword of Power.”

Rhyn stiffened slightly as if snapped from reverie. “My father gave it to me.”

Lachlei smiled at his discomfort. She drew closer so that they were barely inches apart. “Is that so? Swords of Power disintegrate when the forger dies.”

“Not all,” Rhyn assured her. “Although their preservation requires special circumstances…”

“Such as?” Their gazes locked.

Rhyn leaned forward; his lips drew closer to hers. “Such as changes in the Web of Wyrd as those by
Athel’cen
…”

“Lachlei?”

Lachlei broke from him and turned to Kellachan. “What is it, Kel?”

Kellachan glanced at Rhyn and then looked at her. “Was I interrupting?”

Lachlei glanced at Rhyn who met her gaze steadily. “No,” she said. “I was going to speak to the Council.”

“Good,” Kellachan said. “Laewynd is here. He’s expecting you.” Kellachan led her up the stairs to the Council’s hall.

Laewynd will not listen to your demands,
Rhyn said to her in mindspeak.
Take the army, Lachlei, no one will dispute you’re Rhyn’athel’s champion.

Lachlei made no acknowledgment. Instead, she walked in, flanked by both
Chi’lan
.

The Council room was dark, despite it being daylight. The tallow candles within cast a smoky light on the Council members; the air was acrid and stale as Lachlei took a breath. Dark and musty, she wanted to throw open the doors and the windows and expose the room to the bright sunshine outside. She glanced from face-to-face: Moira, Kieran, Elrys, Tarchon, Talar. All stood as they met her gaze. Only Laewynd sat in his Council seat.

“You will rise,” Lachlei said evenly. She did not have to glance behind her to know that Rhyn and Kellachan had their hands on their hilts. “And give me the respect due.”

Laewynd stood, his face pale as he met her gaze. “Respect is earned, Lachlei.”

 “Still at odds with me, Laewynd?” She smiled at Kieran. “Thought I would play the Council’s fool?” Kieran smiled back.

“No,” said Laewynd, “but I would’ve expected more sense from you.”

“I need the army, and I need it now,” Lachlei said. “The
Silren
will cross the Lochvaren Mountains and will march on Caer Lochvaren if we do not stop them. I demand the
Lochvaur
army.”

“Such as it is?” Moira said.

Lachlei turned to the Council member. “What do you mean?”

“It will take a month to bring all forty thousand to Caer Lochvaren,” she said.

“Even ten thousand…” Lachlei began.

“We can’t spare,” Tarchon said. “Haven’t you heard? The
Redel
kindred to the west are showing signs of restlessness. We can’t risk leaving Caer Lochvaren exposed.”

Lachlei glanced at Kellachan and Rhyn, who stood beside her.
What has happened, Kel?

The Council has already taken a vote,
her cousin replied.
Despite your popularity, only Kieran and I voted in your favor.

“You see, Lachlei, you can’t force your agenda on the Council,” Laewynd smiled smugly. “Even if we
would
give you the army, we couldn’t.”

Lachlei glanced at Rhyn.
Your recommendations?

Gather who you can,
Rhyn replied.
Go around the Council.

“Very well,” Lachlei said. She met Laewynd’s gaze. “I know where your loyalties lie. I will take my own
Chi’lan
to meet the
Silren
.” She turned and left, followed by Rhyn and Kellachan. “Damn them!” she snarled after the doors shut.

“You could take the army, yourself,” Rhyn said. “You have that right.”

Kellachan shook his head. “If she does, she’ll alienate the nobles. For whatever we think of the Council, the people chose them to lead.”

“No one, save the Council members, chose Laewynd as Council leader,” Lachlei said.

“Kieran and I don’t make a majority, even without Laewynd,” her cousin said. “As much as you are Rhyn’athel’s champion, and as much as you’re popular among the people, you won’t be able to take the army.”

Lachlei turned to Rhyn. “What do you think?”

“I think that you’re Rhyn’athel’s champion,” he said. “One
Chi’lan
is worth ten soldiers.”

Lachlei met his gaze and smiled. His faith in her strengthened her resolve. She nodded. “Find Cahal and prepare the
Chi’lan
. We leave tomorrow for North Marches.”