Lachlei (18 page)

CHAPTER Thirty-Seven

Bright light blinded Fialan for a moment, and he held his hands up to shelter his gaze. He could hear quiet, mocking laugher as his eyes adjusted to the blinding glare.

“Some protector, Lochvaur,” came a voice. A familiar voice. “He can’t even see.”

“Give him a moment, Areyn,” Lochvaur’s voice rang clear. “I’d love to see the scar he left you with on your last encounter.”

A silence ensued, and the world came into sharp focus. It was daylight, bright and warm. The world they were in was brighter than
Tarentor
. Fialan could now tell that they were in a tent, but where, Fialan couldn’t fathom. It felt familiar somehow…

Areyn Sehduk stood in the form of a
Silren
—
the
Silren
that Fialan remembered before his death. But now the guise looked incomplete, as though the
Eleion
shell would not hold. His eyes were a mix of black and ice-blue; his hair was not quite white. Yet his mannerisms still shone with unspeakable power.

Lochvaur held the death god’s gaze boldly. Indeed, Lochvaur looked more enraged than afraid of Areyn Sehduk, and there was a glint of something within Areyn’s eyes. Fear?

Fialan had seen enough fear in other’s eyes to recognize the fear in the death god’s gaze.
Why does Areyn Sehduk fear Lochvaur, when the god holds our very souls?

Because it is not what I have done, but what I can do. I bide my time, Areyn, you know this…

Areyn laughed, breaking eye contact first. “Your threats are unfounded, Lochvaur…”

“Are they?” Lochvaur asked. “Then, why do you bring me here? Rhyn’athel knows you’ve broken the Truce.”

“So, it
was
Rhyn’athel I fought,” Areyn mused. “He seemed very interested in preserving the
Lochvaur
bitch…” His eyes glinted as they fell on Fialan. “Lachlei.”

Fialan nearly jumped at the mention of her name. “Lachlei?” he said. “What does she have to do with any of this?”

Areyn grinned. “Why, she’s Rhyn’athel’s new champion
—
and little wonder
—
since she holds the key to the Nine Worlds...”

Fialan stared. “What do you mean?”

“Enough, Areyn
—
you wanted me, remember?” Lochvaur snarled.

“It would be difficult to watch a loved one fought over like a scrap of meat between two dogs. Or should I say gods? The Wyrd has woven some very interesting possibilities…”

“Enough!” snapped Lochvaur, drawing his Sword of Power. The Sword glowed brightly in the tent.

Fialan stared speechlessly. How was Lachlei involved, and why would both Rhyn’athel and Areyn Sehduk want her? How could she hold the fate of the Nine Worlds? He looked questioningly at Lochvaur, but the godling’s gaze was fixed on Areyn.

“Why did you bring us to
Elren
?” Lochvaur demanded. “Certainly, not to torment us.”

“We’re in
Elren
?” Fialan asked.

“Indeed,” Lochvaur said. “Why, Areyn?”

“Select your best men, Lochvaur. I need them.”

“I won’t give them for you to drain
—
choose your own!”

“Not to drain
—
to fight for me,” Areyn replied. “I need warriors to fight the
Chi’lan
.”

“Have your own demons fight for you
—
or choose some other Undead,” Lochvaur replied. “I won’t lead a charge against my own people.”

“You’ll do as I say
—
you have no will,” Areyn replied. “Or I can make
Tarentor
very unpleasant.”

“Burning rivers of flame? Frozen wastelands?” Lochvaur asked, his voice now mocking. “Come now, Areyn, you can think up far worse tortures.”

“I have
—
and have done so,” Areyn smiled coldly. “I have taken your will. You have no choice but to obey me. Yes, yes, I’ve allowed your foolish attempts at defying me, but in the end, Lochvaur, you are still mine. Go, select you best men. If you do not, I will choose them myself and any that fails me, will serve me in other ways.”

Lochvaur stood rigid, his steel eyes cold and filled with hate. “You would make me go against my father and my blood?”

“Indeed,” said Areyn. “Pity, that you have no choice.” He paused. “Are you going to use that weapon, Lochvaur, or merely threaten me with it?”

Fialan watched as he saw a great struggle of wills ensue. Lochvaur raised his sword as though to strike Areyn, but something caught him as though invisible hands gripped his arms. Lochvaur shook under the power, fighting it desperately. Areyn smiled coldly as the godling’s knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground. The Sword fell from his hands and clattered against the floor. Fialan wanted to rush forward to help Lochvaur, but found himself unable to move.

Areyn casually stood before Lochvaur. The godling’s face was filled with hate and rage. “Remember, son of Rhyn’athel, who owns you.”

“There will be a day, Areyn, when I will exact my revenge.”

“Really? Or will you let your brother do that?” Areyn sneered. “Pick up your sword, Lochvaur, and choose your men. I’ll send Flayer for them within a
Tarentor
day.”

Lochvaur glared as he stood and retrieved the Sword of Power. “There will come a day, Areyn…”

Areyn laughed, and the world spun around them. Suddenly, both Lochvaur and Fialan stood on the battlement as though they had never left.

“Lochvaur!” Kiril gasped as the two appeared. The other
Lochvaur
stood around them, staring at the two men.

“Fialan!” said Eshe. “What happened?”

Lochvaur looked grim and said naught. He nodded to Fialan and strode away without a word.

CHAPTER Thirty-Eight

Lachlei entered her tent and found that almost everything had been packed. She unfolded one of the chairs and sat down. Her face was red and when she rubbed it, she found that she had been crying. Why?

It was one kiss
—
just one. But that kiss held unspoken passion behind it and she had responded. Had her love for Fialan been so cheap that she would throw it away for desire? Desire that she never knew she had?

Lachlei looked at Rhyn differently now. Had she encouraged this? She had been comfortable around him and willing to give him command of the army
—
because he was capable? Or because she wished him to be around. Certainly, Cahal and the other
Chi’lan
were just as capable, weren’t they?

Lachlei knew the answer. No one was quite like Rhyn. He was as though a legend had suddenly come to life
—
a first-blood from a time before the War between the Gods. He was a demon killer and wielded a Sword of Power
—
something that hadn’t been known to exist. How could someone not love a legend?

And yet, there was her love for Fialan…

Lachlei cursed silently. Her reaction had been all wrong. First, she had responded to him, and then she had pulled away in fear. Was this the reaction of a
Chi’lan
? Of Rhyn’athel’s champion?

It was
her
reaction. She hadn’t wanted to be queen, but she was. Her warriors had faith in her, but her success was due to Rhyn…

“Have you seen Rhyn?” came a voice.

Lachlei turned to see Cahal standing in the doorway.

“What?” she began, feeling her face flush.

“Rhyn isn’t in camp,” Cahal said. He gazed at her for a moment. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she stammered. “No. I mean, I haven’t seen Rhyn.”

Cahal studied her briefly. “I thought you were going to ask him how he killed demons.”

“I did,” Lachlei said. “Perhaps he’s overseeing the archers.”

“I checked
—
he’s not there.” He paused. “Are you all right?”

Her eyes steeled. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll find Rhyn someplace.”

Cahal nodded. “The army will be ready by nightfall.”

“Good, see to it.”

Cahal left and Lachlei shook her head. Exhaustion crept over her and she closed her eyes.

It wasn’t long before Lachlei sensed another presence in the room. She kept her eyes closed but allowed her hand to drop to her hilt.

“Not a bad trick, but it needs more subtlety,” remarked Rhyn.

Lachlei opened her eyes. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

A glint of puzzlement shone in Rhyn’s eyes. “Lachlei, I came to apologize,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you…”

Lachlei’s gaze narrowed. “You didn’t hurt me,” she said. Even to her ears, her tone was clipped.

Rhyn straightened slightly. “Perhaps I didn’t,” he said, his voice neutral. He turned to leave.

“Wait…” Lachlei hesitated. Rhyn turned around and gave her an appraising look. “Listen, Rhyn,” she whispered. “I’m sorry
—
it’s just too soon.”

Resignation filled his eyes. “Of course, Lachlei, I understand.”

She shook her head. “That’s good, because I don’t,” she admitted. “You’re still my commander, Rhyn.”

He smiled wryly. “I didn’t think you’d demote me just yet.” He paused. “Let’s go
—
the army is almost ready to leave.”

*****

Fialan stared into the swollen red sun of
Tarentor
. What had Areyn meant that Lachlei was to be fought over by two gods? The two gods were obvious
—
Rhyn’athel and Areyn Sehduk
—
but why? Why did she hold the fate of the Nine Worlds?

Returning to
Elren
had awakened a burning desire to return to the world of the living. Areyn could not have been crueler by offering a drowning man a gulp of air. Fialan knew he could not return as one of the living, but would he return to fight against his own people? Part of him loathed the prospect; but another part desired to return to
Elren
. Even if it meant killing his own kindred.

He had seen nothing of Lochvaur since they had returned. No doubt Lochvaur was fuming over his failure to break Areyn’s power. But it was not much of a failure, Fialan thought. No god, save Rhyn’athel
—
not even the only other
Athel’cen
, Ni’yah
—
could defeat Areyn Sehduk. Lochvaur was
Eleion
—
he couldn’t expect to defeat a Wyrd-born god.

Eshe stood beside Fialan silently. She hadn’t pressed him for answers when he chose to remain silent. Now he simply stood on the battlement, leaning against a merlon, while she kept him company. It was nearly midday when Fialan decided to enter into the great hall.

Fialan strode through the labyrinth of corridors to the great hall, Eshe following him like a shadow. Lochvaur sat on the throne, his eyes dark and angry at what he had to do. Fialan strode to the throne; those around him parted at his presence. Lochvaur’s gaze fell on Fialan and a rueful smile crossed the godling’s lips. “It wasn’t what either of us expected, was it, Fialan?”

Fialan took a deep breath. “What did Areyn mean when he spoke of Lachlei?”

Pity entered Lochvaur’s eyes. “I had hoped you’d be spared the knowledge,” he admitted. “I told you, Fialan, that this would be a trying time for you…”

“What?”

“The Wyrd, Fialan, has changed.” He shook his head. “There is no easy way to tell you. Lachlei will bear sons who will end this conflict.”

Fialan paused. “My son, Haellsil?”

Lochvaur shook his head. “Twin sons
—
the sons of a god. The sons of one of the
Athel’cen
.”

Silence ensued. “Lachlei is my wife…”

“
Was
your wife,” Lochvaur corrected. “Death has a nasty habit of changing things. The vows you took to each other are no more.”

“And so either Rhyn’athel or Areyn is going to bed her like some common whore?” Fialan snarled.

“Fialan!”

“And I’m supposed to accept this
—
be the good
Chi’lan
warrior that I am and accept that my own god is…” Fialan fell silent in disbelief.

“Fialan,” whispered Eshe.

“Leave me alone, Eshe!” he snapped.

Lochvaur drew himself up to full height. “You were never intended for Lachlei, Fialan. The Wyrd has a habit of correcting itself when there is a dead-end. No one discerned Lachlei’s pattern until Rhyn’athel saw her for the first time and the Wyrd rewove itself.”

“You’re in league with this,” Fialan snarled. He turned to leave. “Keep me out of it and leave me alone.”

“If I could,” Lochvaur replied. “I certainly would. But I have no will in this, Fialan. You are in the thick of this battle, whether you choose to accept it or not.” He paused. “And you will fight beside me in
Elren
.”

“No, I won’t,” Fialan replied. He shot Lochvaur a withering look before storming out of the hall.

CHAPTER Thirty-Nine

“Fialan?” Eshe said tentatively. Fialan sat on a windswept hill, dotted with saw grass. He stared into the cloudless, dark sky. He had left the fortress and climbed the hill as far away from people and the fortress as he could. She had followed him silently and waited as he sat there overlooking the plains.

“Leave me alone, Eshe,” he said. The anger was hot inside him. How could Rhyn’athel betray him? The warrior god had allowed Areyn to kill him and now Rhyn’athel would bed Lachlei.

“No, Fialan,” she said, crouching beside him. “I know you’re in a lot of pain right now…”

“Eshe, you have no idea…”

“I think I do,” she said. “Fialan, I thought you were stronger than that.”

He stared at her. “What do you know of strength?”

“I have suffered here every day since I died. I saw my two sons die in battle before me. I saw my husband and fellow
Chi’lan
die…”

“Then you at least have them,” he said, turning away.

“No, I don’t,” Eshe said. “Oh yes, they exist in this world, but they are gone. Gone for good.”

Fialan stared at her. “What do you mean? You say we can’t die here.”

“We can’t die, but there’s something like death here,” Eshe said. “We’re all going through it, even now. Each day, this world robs us of ourselves, Fialan. Each day, we die a little more. Haven’t you noticed the warriors here, Fialan? How flat and emotionless they’ve become? They’ve lost hope, until now. Until you told us the Truce has ended.”

Tears ran down her face and he reached out and touched her cheek. “I don’t understand, Eshe.”

“My family is out there, somewhere. They neither recognize me nor acknowledge my presence. They’ve each become one of the soulless, Fialan. They remain mindless, emotionless…” Her voice wavered. “They are truly Undead.”

“Eshe, I…”

“I was becoming one of those, Fialan, until you arrived…”

Fialan fell silent. “But, Eshe, I have lost my beloved wife…”

“Lachlei is lost to you,” she said. “You can never see or touch her again until she dies. Even then, your love will not be the same.”

“But the gods…”

“Be glad Lachlei is part of this conflict,” she said. “And be glad Rhyn’athel may love her
—
he will save her from this cursed existence.”

Fialan said nothing, but did not push her away as she rested her hand on his shoulder. Instead, Fialan held it gently as they both watched the sun disappear below the horizon.

*****

Imdyr lay naked across the cot within Areyn Sehduk’s tent. She laid on several thick layers of bear skins, her gleaming form contrasting against the russet fur. Her gaunt body looked almost too fragile for the power within it.

Two days had passed since the retreat. As daylight approached, Areyn risked setting up camp. His instinct was to keep pressing forward until he could bring reinforcements, but the
Silren
were exhausted and at the edge of rebellion. Using the Sight, he realized that the
Lochvaur
stayed their pursuit, choosing to rest. He ordered the army to make camp and posted a watch.

As Areyn walked into the tent, his gaze swept over her once before glancing at the oil lamps and setting them ablaze. “Get dressed,” he said. “We have work to do.”

“
You
have work,” Imdyr said. “I will be no part of it.”

Areyn hesitated and met her dark eyes. Her tone suggested she was angry. At what, Areyn did not know, nor cared. “You will serve me.”

“I serve whom I please,” she replied. “Or who pleases me. Don’t forget that I am the one who can hand you victory against the god of warriors. No one else.”

Areyn laughed at her boldness. “And what is this about?”

“Lachlei,” Imdyr said.

Areyn considered her thoughtfully. He searched the memories of the dead
Silren
. He smiled slowly. “Jealousy, Imdyr?”

She flushed, unable to hide the anger. “I am not jealous.”

“You lie poorly,” Areyn said amused. Her face became redder now and he sat beside her. “Need I remind you that you were the one who showed me Lachlei?”

“Kill her
—
you’ll maintain the balance.”

“The balance isn’t what I want,” Areyn replied. “Neither I nor Rhyn’athel will be satisfied with anything less than complete victory.”

“And why should I accept this fate?” she asked. “You will use me and toss me aside when I’m no longer any use. As long as I can see past the enemy’s defenses, you find me intriguing, but once I can’t…”

“Do you think I would feel anything towards Lachlei?” Areyn asked.

“I don’t know what you feel,” Imdyr replied. “Save perhaps the lust for the power that the dead give you.” Imdyr rose slowly and slid her arms around his neck. “I could give you sons as powerful as those Lachlei would bear.” Her heady musk fragrance filled his nostrils as she lightly ran her teeth along his jaw. “How many lovers have you had, Areyn? How many have satisfied you the way I have?”

Areyn allowed the instincts of the body he had stolen to take over, kissing her passionately in response. He had many lovers before the Truce, some goddesses like Fala; others, mortals like the
Eleion
. The woman who lay in his bed was not much more than a child, really. Pliable and easily duped. He smiled as she unfastened his armor. “None,” he said.

“You lie,” she replied.

He gazed at her with his ice-cold eyes. “It is what you want to hear,” he said, grasping her by the shoulders and pushing her back on the cot. “Isn’t it?” he asked as he slid on top of her. “This is what you want.”

“Perhaps,” she said.