Lachlei (21 page)

CHAPTER Forty-Four

Fialan returned to the tent where he had left Eshe sleeping. She was no longer there, and she had left her bedroll unmade. Fialan gazed at the bedroll in puzzlement and turned to Kiril as he entered the tent.

“Kiril,” he said. “Have you seen Eshe?”

Kiril shook his head. In the bright sun, the big
Shara’kai
looked more formidable with his larger
Ansgar
frame and heavier bone.
Not as fast as an Eleion,
thought Fialan,
but
he’s probably stronger than any of us, save perhaps Lochvaur.
“I haven’t seen Eshe at all
—
maybe she’s getting something to eat.”

“Eat?” Fialan repeated. “You mean we can eat? We need food?”

“You’ll get hungry and thirsty soon enough,” Kiril remarked. “It’s almost like being alive. If I hadn’t been in
Tarentor
for so long, I might actually think that I’m alive.”

Fialan paused.
How close might these be to our real bodies?
he wondered. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Within his mind’s eye, he felt the unmistakable touch of the Wyrd, and with it his power. His power wasn’t entirely there, but his link with the Wyrd had returned. Just then he saw Eshe in his mind’s eye with a small bundle in her hands, running as fast as she could away from the encampment.

“Eshe, no!” Fialan whispered.

“What?” Kiril said.

“Eshe is trying to escape,” Fialan said.

Kiril’s face turned pale. “Areyn will whip her.” He paused. “Do you know where she is?”

Fialan nodded. “This way.” Fialan led Kiril from the tent, past several more tents and westward into the forest. Here, Fialan paused and gazed at the tracks in the snow. There were a myriad of tracks even here, many of which continued into the forest. He tried to summon his Sight to determine which track Eshe had taken, but to no avail.

“Eshe went this way,” Kiril said as he knelt down, examining one set of tracks in the snow. He pointed at one set that traveled northwestward.

Fialan gazed at the prints in the snow. “How can you be sure? There’s too many to distinguish.”

“I can,” Kiril said. “I’m a tracker. Those other footprints were made some hours ago
—
these are fresh. They’re about the same size of a woman’s track, too.” He sighed. “Damn it, Eshe,” he grumbled. “You’re going to get us all flayed for this.”

Fialan turned to Kiril. “How do we know that we’ll get caught if we try to escape?”

Kiril shrugged. “Our bodies are linked to
Tarentor
. If we go too far from Areyn or one of the demons, we’ll lose them. Areyn doesn’t need massive numbers of demons to look over us because we’ll lose our corporeal selves.” He paused. “At least, that’s what Areyn has told us.”

“Lochvaur believes that, too,” Fialan mused. “We have to find Eshe.”

“Follow me, then,” Kiril said. He led Fialan through the snow in the forest. Fialan marveled at Kiril’s strength as the snow began to run deep; the
Shara’kai
Chi’lan
plowed through it tirelessly. “The deep snow has slowed her down,” Kiril remarked. He stomped the snow around them so Fialan could see the tracks ahead. “You purebloods don’t have the stamina of the
Shara’kai
.”

Fialan studied the tracks. Although Eshe was tall for a woman, she was still not as tall as either Fialan or Kiril. By the tracks, it looked as if she was wading in the snow. He gazed at the long shadows and the tracks that seemed to go on endlessly. “That’s true,” he said. He glanced at Kiril. “She’d try to get where the snow might be less deep.”

“That’d be higher ground,” Kiril replied. He pointed to some rocks in the distance. “Eshe would go there and probably rest. Maybe for the night.”

Fialan gazed at them. “It’ll be dusk soon. Is there an easier way for us to parallel her tracks?”

Kiril nodded. “We’re on the lee side of the hill where the snow collects. The higher we get along the ridge, the easier it will be to walk on.” He pointed above them. “It’ll be hard going ‘til we get to the top of that rise.”

Fialan nodded, trusting Kiril’s ability. As they crested the rise, the snow level dropped to a few inches and they were able to walk along it towards the rocks ahead. As Sowelu started sinking lower in the horizon, they reached the rocky outcroppings. Cold and sweat-drenched in their armor, they climbed the rocks to overlook the land below them. Eshe sat next to a small pile of branches and deadwood she had collected and was busy striking her flint.

She looked up and saw them. Drawing her sword, she backed away. “No, Fialan!” she shouted. “I’m not going back!”

“Eshe! No!” Fialan said, scrambling down the rocks. He did not draw his sword. “Eshe, Lochvaur says there’s another way.”

“Kiril
—
tell him
—
I can’t go back!” Eshe said. “Fialan, we eat and drink…”

“Eshe, you’ll lose your form
—
we’ll all lose our forms if we don’t return,” Kiril said. “Be reasonable. We can’t leave the army…”

“That’s what Areyn says,” she said. “We don’t know that! Maybe among the living we, too, can live…” She backed away from them.

“Eshe, no,” Fialan said calmly. “Come back with me before the demons find us. There is another way.”

“No!” Eshe turned and fled.

“Rhyn’athel’s blood!” Fialan swore. He and Kiril ran forward, hoping to catch her.

Eshe shrieked and halted in mid run; her body caught in flame. Before Fialan could stop, both he and Kiril were caught in the fire as well. Excruciating pain, worse than anything Fialan had experienced ran through him. Unable to move, but writhing in agony, Fialan heard Areyn’s mocking laughter.

I suspected you three would be the first to try to escape. You’re predictable, Fialan.

Blinded now, Fialan could only suffer the torture and listen to Areyn’s words.

What should I do with them, Lochvaur? They are yours.

Indeed, they are mine,
Lochvaur said, his voice strong and clear in Fialan’s mind.
Two of them were trying to keep the other from fleeing.

It matters not
, Areyn said.
They have violated my law. Will you take responsibility for them?

Silence ensued.

Will you?

Damn you, Areyn. I’ll remember this.

As you have so idly threatened me in the past. Will you take responsibility for their actions?

I will,
Lochvaur said heavily.

Fialan fell unconscious and knew no more.

CHAPTER Forty-Five

It was late when Lachlei and her warriors returned to their camp. Because the
Chi’lan
were in pursuit of the
Silren
, a full camp would take too much time to set up and break, so they bivouacked in the cold, huddled around their fires for warmth.

Rhyn’athel held Lachlei as she lay beside him, shivering in the cold. Despite her offhanded rejection of him before, she let Rhyn’athel wrap his arms around her and his cloak around both of them to keep her warm. Lachlei’s proximity aroused him, but he knew his armor, even though it was flexible mail, would conceal it. He was glad she was facing away from him, or his expression would betray his emotions.

Lachlei’s own emotions twisted inside her. Rhyn had awoken an old passion. She could feel his power as he held her. He reminded her of her beloved Fialan.

No. That wasn’t it.
Rhyn was Rhyn. Fialan, as dearly as she had loved her husband, was not the warrior Rhyn was. Fialan did not have Rhyn’s intensity or his singular purpose. Lachlei had never met a man like Rhyn, save perhaps Telek. Laddel, too, seemed like Rhyn in a way, but even he deferred to Rhyn. Could Rhyn be a godling — or something else?

She had sworn to avenge Fialan, and yet Rhyn drew her to him even now. When he kissed her, she had wanted him. And yet, the hesitation was there.

She felt Rhyn shift. “Rhyn,” she whispered. “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” he said, his tone neutral.

“Are you worried about the battle tomorrow?” she asked.

Rhyn’s response was a noncommittal shrug. “Perhaps.”

Lachlei fell silent, content to feel his rhythmic breathing. “Why is Areyn here and not Rhyn’athel?”

“Who says Rhyn’athel isn’t here?”

Lachlei turned her head, catching his smile. “Do you believe the warrior god is with us?”

“I do.”

“Then this is a battle of the war between the gods,” Lachlei whispered.

“Indeed,” he agreed. “It is a part.”

“Do you know about the war
—
the war between the gods?” Lachlei asked.

“A little
—
what has been passed down from Rhyn’el, Lochvaur’s son.”

She smiled; she had heard a hedge in his voice. She turned around in his arms, facing him. “What do you know, Rhyn?”

“What do you wish to know?”

“How did Rhyn’athel defeat Areyn?”

Rhyn’athel shrugged. “I suppose he just outfought Areyn,” he said, not meeting her gaze.

Lachlei smiled as she saw his discomfort. “Rhyn’athel outfought the god of death?”

“Areyn is an
Athel’cen
, same as Rhyn’athel and Ni’yah,” Rhyn replied. “He is a very powerful god, but Rhyn’athel is more powerful. Those three gods are Wyrd-born
—
their powers are beyond the other gods.”

“So, why the Truce?”

“An
Athel’cen
can’t be destroyed,” Rhyn replied. “Their nature is woven through the Web of Wyrd. Rhyn’athel couldn’t destroy Areyn Sehduk any more than Areyn could destroy him. The war had destroyed all the worlds and had even devastated a large portion of
Athelren
…”

“Why?”

Rhyn smiled sadly. “The
Fyr
.”

Lachlei stared. “The
Fyr
? What is that?”

“The
Fyr
is the Eternal Fire of creation and destruction. The
Athel’cen
can use it, but no one else can
—
not even the other gods.”

“What is it?”

“The power to create and destroy,” Rhyn said, his eyes glowing in the ruddy light of the fire. “It exists within all things. Rhyn’athel and Ni’yah use it to create; Areyn to destroy.” He propped his chin on one arm and met her gaze. “Why are you curious about the
Fyr
?”

“Could it be used against us again?”

“It could,” he admitted. “But Areyn isn’t that desperate. Not yet.”

His confidence was reassuring, and Lachlei pulled herself closer to him. She could feel him respond as her body pressed against his. Her face was only a few inches from his. “Rhyn,” she whispered. “I’ve reacted badly.”

Puzzlement glinted in Rhyn’s eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I never thought I could love another,” she said. “And yet, I love you.”

Rhyn stared at her as if not believing he had heard correctly. Lachlei pulled him towards her and kissed him. Rhyn took her in his arms and kissed her hungrily. She responded, sliding her hands over his mailshirt and unbuckling his swordbelt.

A scream shattered their passion. Rhyn was already on his feet, refastening the belt and drawing his sword. Another scream
—
this time louder
—
and Lachlei could see the anger in his eyes. “What is it?”

“Demon,” Rhyn growled. His Sword of Power was glowing as he eyes followed the unseen menace above them.

Lachlei stood up, her silver eyes trying to see the demon. She had instinctively drawn her sword and could see something moving above the encampment, but nothing substantial. Rhyn’s focus was so completely on it, that she found it easier to watch him than try to discern the demon in the dark sky.

Other warriors were to their feet as well. Rhyn’s eyes glowed menacingly. “Reveal yourself, Heath-stalker!”

The demon screamed, and Lachlei caught her breath. The demon stood above them, its wings beating furiously. Its long serpent neck was furred, and it had the head of a wolf. Yellow eyes glowed as it growled at the warrior god.

Cahal was beside her, pulling her away from Rhyn. “No!” she snapped.

“Let Rhyn do his job!” Cahal hissed. “He’s a demon slayer
—
let him kill it.”

Suddenly, the demon screamed and dove, but not at Rhyn. Instead, the demon charged right at her. Lachlei swung
Fyren
, trying to focus on her power. The blade parried the demon’s massive claws, throwing her backward. She heard Cahal’s cry from somewhere behind her and saw the demon rise above her, its claws posed to grasp her.

A yell and a blinding flash. Black blood and drool poured from the slavering creature. Wings and claws whirled around her, and Lachlei thrust her sword upward as the demon bore down on her.

Lachlei could not breathe or see. The demon’s weight crushed her. Then, for a moment, she saw a warrior glazed in light, his sword glowing in his hands. He looked like Rhyn, and yet wasn’t. This warrior was powerful and terrifying. He thrust the sword deep into the demon and it thrashed.

Was it Rhyn’athel, himself? Her thoughts went back to Rhyn’s words. He seemed confident that the warrior god was with them.

“Lachlei?” Rhyn’s voice snapped her out of the vision. “Are you all right?” Gone was the warrior god, replace by darkness and demon-stench. Rhyn and several of the
Chi’lan
pushed the demon’s body from her. As the body rolled off, Lachlei freed
Fyren
from the demon’s chest.
Fyren
had cut through the demon’s thick armor and into its heart.

“I think so,” she said. Despite being covered in gore, Lachlei had not been injured. She found it odd that the demon tried to pick her up, not rake her. It had purposely avoided Rhyn, its obvious challenger.

Rhyn grinned as he saw the wound. “You killed it,” he said. “I only managed to pierce its hide in the back.”

Lachlei wiped the blood from her blade and considered Rhyn thoughtfully. “That’s not what I saw,” she said quietly, meeting his gaze.

Rhyn tilted his head. “What did you see?”

Rhyn’athel.

Rhyn started at the name. “Are you sure?” he breathed.

You are Rhyn’athel’s champion, not me,
Lachlei said.
That is why you were so certain Rhyn’athel is with us.

Rhyn relaxed visibly.
Nonsense,
he said.
You bear the mark of Rhyn’athel.