Lachlei (3 page)

CHAPTER Five

“Fialan is dead.”

Areyn Sehduk stood in the throne room of the
Silren
, a smile played across his lips. In his current form, the death god was the warrior, Akwel, one of the
Silren
nobles. He had ambushed Akwel, taking the
Silren’s
body as the warrior rode alone in the forest. He consumed the hapless
Silren’s
soul, using Akwel’s energy to feed his power while he stayed in this world. Areyn would soon have to feed again.

The sun shone brightly through the stained glass windows, casting a rainbow of color across the granite floors. The dark blue colors of the
Silren
standard hung overhead, emblazoned with a silver, eight-rayed star, contrasting against the light gray stone.

In the bright sunlight, none, not even Silvain, suspected that the man who stood before them was the death god. Silvain, the king of the
Silren
, sat on the intricately carved throne, listening to Areyn’s words. The son of the goddess, Elisila, was old, even though his body had remained young. None here knew his age, save Areyn. The godling was over three thousand years old and had seen many battles
—
including the first battle against Areyn Sehduk.

Areyn remembered the king of the
Silren
and despised him. During that battle, the kindreds had reunited under godlings such as Silvain and Lochvaur. They had fought with Rhyn’athel to overthrow Areyn. None here save Silvain remembered that battle. None here save Areyn, himself.

Areyn had been hesitant at first to approach Silvain in his new body. Silvain had powers beyond even a normal first-blood, but Areyn soon discovered that the godling could not see beyond his disguise. No one could, save perhaps another god, and even then, Areyn doubted one of the lesser gods could recognize him. Areyn guessed that only Rhyn’athel could, but Rhyn’athel wasn’t here.

Rhyn’athel wouldn’t get involved. That was the beauty of the Truce. Only when it was too late would the warrior god enter the fray. By that time,
Elren
would be Areyn’s and the power would shift. With the power of five worlds under his command, Areyn knew the other four would eventually fall.

It was a good plan. It would work. Even the meddling Ni’yah couldn’t do much about it. Areyn had seen a wolf after he had killed Fialan, and that had troubled him at first. Could it have been the meddling god? But the wolf had fled, not confronted him, and Areyn had sensed nothing special about that wolf.

Behind Areyn sat the
Silren
nobles, many who gazed at him in admiration. He knew the
Silren’s
minds and now was the time to put into words their desires.

“With the
Lochvaur
champion gone, the
Lochvaur
are leaderless,” Areyn said. “Their confusion is our gain. Now is the time for the
Silren
to take back the lands that are rightfully ours.”

A murmur of assent rippled through the
Silren
nobles. There was no love between the
Lochvaur
and
Silren
.

Silvain raised his hand for silence and the room stilled. He met Areyn’s gaze. “We are at peace with the
Lochvaur
. We agreed to the treaty Lochalan and I signed nearly a hundred years ago.”

Areyn laughed. “Have the
Silren
gone soft? Were not the lands the
Lochvaur
now occupied once ours?”

“The North Marches have been in dispute for many centuries,” Silvain said evenly. “I remember when Lochvaur, himself, claimed those lands.”

“Yes, but so did you,” Areyn replied. “They were our lands first.”

The nobles looked to Silvain.

The king of the
Silren
smiled, his ice-blue eyes met the gods. “Indeed, they were our lands,” he admitted. “Akwel, you know our history very well. Very well indeed.”

Better than you think,
Areyn Sehduk thought darkly.

“But what of the
Chi’lan
?” one voice objected. The
Silren
warriors parted and a tall woman clad in mail approached the throne. Her ice blue eyes considered Areyn with contempt.

“Rhyn’athel’s dogs,” Areyn scoffed. “With the
Elesil
, we can defeat the
Chi’lan
and take back our lands.”

“
Rhyn’athel’s dogs,
as you call them, are the best warriors in the Nine Worlds,” she said. “We spilt much blood to obtain that treaty, and you would throw it away on a worthless scrap of land?”

“North Marches is hardly worthless, Cara, my daughter,” Silvain said. “It has been traditionally our lands before Lochalan.”

Cara met her father’s gaze. “The
Elesil
will not enter the fight with us.”

A sardonic smile played on Areyn lips. “Conlan has assured me his support. The
Elesil
want their lands to the east almost as much as we desire ours. Now is the time to act, while the
Lochvaur
are leaderless.”

“You’re insane
—
the
Laddel
and
Haell
will assuredly come to the
Lochvaur
aid,” Cara objected.

“I hear the prattle of women,” Areyn spoke. Many of the nobles chuckled in response.

Cara drew her sword and started forward.

“Commander, no!” A
Silren
captain named Haukel caught her arm.

Cara wheeled around. “Not here,” Haukel said, giving her a knowing look. “Not now.”

“Yes,” said Areyn grinning as he watched Cara seethe. “Those of you who care to listen to women prattle are as much cowards as they are. The
Lochvaur
have our lands
—
it is time we took them back!”

The
Silren
warriors cheered, drowning out the dissenters. Areyn gave Cara a sly smile. She turned and left, flanked by a few warriors.

“Then, it is decided,” Silvain said. “We take back the North Marches.”

The stars shone brightly in the sky as Lachlei thrust the torch into the pyre on which laid the five dead
Chi’lan
. The other
Chi’lan
followed, tossing their burning torches into the wood. The dry kindling caught and the flames leapt up, ensconcing the body of Fialan and the men who died to protect him.

It had taken most of the day to build the pyre on the mountain overlooking Caer Lochvaren. Lachlei had helped the
Chi’lan
construct the pyre, carrying the logs and branches necessary to feed the flames. The air had a hint of frost in it, and the trees were already changing color.

A change was in the air.

Lachlei watched as the flames obscured the bodies. She had tried what she could to remove the foul magic from them, but the stench remained.

It will not leave Fialan alone, even in death,
she thought.
What powerful magic could do this?

Beside Lachlei stood her kinsman, Kellachan, and her personal guard, even though
Lochvaur
law didn’t require their service to her anymore. Cahal stood loyally by
—
a reminder of the ardent loyalty Fialan commanded among the
Chi’lan
. Lachlei thought now about her infant son, Haellsil. He would become a great warrior like his father
—
if he lived long enough.

The
Lochvaur
were vulnerable; there was no great champion now. The other kindreds would sense the vulnerability and gather like wolves awaiting the death of a wounded moose. The pack would draw closer and eventually tear them apart. Unless…

Unless there was a champion to take Fialan’s place.

But Lachlei knew there was no
Chi’lan
warrior alive who could. She knew the
Chi’lan
and their capabilities, but first-bloods from the line of Lochvaur were rare. Fialan was one; she was another. Lachlei and Fialan had been related only distantly with six generations between a common ancestor. Kellachan was even more distantly related, without the powers a first-blood should possess. No wonder that the
Chi’lan
turned to her.

Lachlei strode away from the fire, wanting to be alone. Her sorrow now turned to anger
—
whatever had killed Fialan was evil, that much she was certain of. She looked into the sky to see the moons rise slowly above the horizon. Tomah and Iamar rose, followed by a third moon, Mani. She stared at the golden moon in amazement. Mani often was the portent of great and terrible things.

Her hand strayed to her side and brushed against the sword hilt. She had sheathed
Fyren
, her husband’s blade earlier, not thinking. Lachlei now drew the blade and held it upward towards the moon. The smoke from the pyre drifted overhead, turning the moon blood red.

Rhyn’athel,
she spoke silently.
Great god of warriors, hear me! By the blood that burns in the Lochvaur veins, by the blood that burns in my veins, grant me the power to find the evil that killed Fialan, your champion. By my blood, I will avenge you, Fialan, even at the cost of my own life.
Lachlei brandished the sword and for a moment, the great sword glowed.

Lachlei turned around, resolve in her face. She gazed at the pyre. “You will be avenged, my Fialan. And may the gods have no pity on the one who did this to you.”

CHAPTER Six

Rhyn’athel stared at the
Chi’lan
woman who stood in the moonlight, her face filled with anger and resolve. Even angry, she was beautiful
—
she rivaled the beauty of the eight goddesses.

“This
—
is Lachlei?” he asked. Rhyn’athel turned towards Ni’yah, but found he could not tear his gaze from her. Lachlei was a true
Chi’lan
, athletic and powerful, and yet her beauty…

“She is rather pretty, isn’t she?” Ni’yah said wryly, his brass eyes gleaming. “I thought you might like her.”

Rhyn’athel continued to stare at Lachlei, entranced. Suddenly, the Truce meant nothing to him. Rhyn’athel had forgotten how long it had been since he had been in
Elren
. How much he loved the world and the
Eleion
. And how much he had fought to stay away from it.

Lachlei brought back those old emotions. Emotions Rhyn’athel had long buried inside him for the sake of the Truce. Emotions he could not afford to have, and yet still did. The god continued to stare at her. Lachlei was a creature of light. He could sense the power within her
—
the power that belied her mortality.

He wanted her.

“How long has it been since you were with a woman?” the wolf-god asked. “Two thousand years, I’d wager
—
maybe longer. Not since the Truce, certainly…”

The remarks snapped Rhyn’athel out of his reverie and he wheeled on his brother. “You knew this would happen.”

“Not,
exactly
…”

“You’ve just complicated matters.”

“I always do,” Ni’yah agreed. He paused and became serious. “Listen, I would wager half my powers that Areyn Sehduk killed Fialan. I saw your champion die, my brother, and nothing should have been able to hold Fialan’s powers back, save a god. Fialan was the strongest champion you’ve had since Lochvaur, and his powers equaled most godlings.”

Rhyn’athel reluctantly turned his gaze from Lachlei to his brother. He nodded. “That is true
—
Fialan was powerful.”

“The bodies stink of Areyn’s magic,” Ni’yah replied. “Even Lachlei can feel it, but she doesn’t recognize it because she’s never been up against Areyn. I have.”

 “What would you have me do? Destroy the Truce? It will start another war bloodier than the last. And to what purpose, Ni’yah? I can’t kill Areyn anymore than he can destroy me.”

“The problems with being immortal,” Ni’yah remarked dryly.

“We would raze the Nine Worlds,” Rhyn’athel said. “Everything you see here and now would be gone…”

“Lachlei has sworn blood vengeance,” Ni’yah said.

Silence ensued.

“I know. I heard her,” Rhyn’athel replied.

Another silence followed.

“Lachlei will not rest until she avenges Fialan’s death or is dead.”

“What would you have me do?” Rhyn’athel snapped. He turned around and crossed his arms.

“She’ll be lost to Areyn Sehduk if you do nothing,” Ni’yah replied.

“We don’t know Areyn killed Fialan.”

“Yes, we do, but you won’t admit it,” Ni’yah replied. “The sword Lachlei carries is Fialan’s. Fialan blooded it on Areyn before Areyn killed him.”

Rhyn’athel turned around with a fierce gleam in his eyes. “He did? I’m glad to see Fialan gave Areyn something to think about.”

“Indeed and no doubt Fialan is paying for that boldness in Areyn’s realm,” Ni’yah said. “But, the proof you seek is on the blade.”

“Indeed,” Rhyn’athel said. His gaze lingered on Lachlei. She had sheathed the sword and now sat cross-legged on the grass, looking into the night’s sky. He could hear her thoughts and feel her underlying power as she stared at the stars.
How had he overlooked her?
he wondered.
Perhaps he had been afraid.

The thought amused the god, but there was some validity. Had Rhyn’athel paid more attention to Lachlei, he might have been tempted to enter the Fifth World
—
as he was doing so now. If Areyn Sehduk learned of the transgression
—
however minor, Areyn would use that as an excuse to raze this world. He would destroy the
Eleion
as he had destroyed the others that had occupied the worlds he took
—
in favor of his own twisted creations. The
Eleion
would be no more, nor would their descendants, the
Ansgar,
hope to survive under Areyn’s reign. Areyn ruled the dead as well
—
taking away Rhyn’athel’s warriors as he had done with Fialan.

Rhyn’athel’s gaze lingered on Lachlei. To allow her to die
—
to be taken from him until the end of time
—
was unbearable. Rhyn’athel turned his gaze inward, using the Sight to look into the future…

“Brother?”

Rhyn’athel’s silver eyes had glazed over. They now snapped back to attention, and he stared at Ni’yah. Resolution within them told Ni’yah that Rhyn’athel had seen something the wolf-god could not. “You meddler!” he growled and with that, Rhyn’athel vanished, leaving Ni’yah bemused.

*****

“By Rhyn’athel’s sword!” Cara swore. “What is happening to our people?” The daughter of Silvain stood under the stars with the few warriors who were loyal to her. Twenty
Silren
warriors had agreed to meet in the rolling plains, far from the silver fortress to debate the turn of events. They had ridden their horses under the night’s sky until they reached a small hillock called
Silwar.

Silwar
had been an old temple or shrine to Elisila, one of the goddesses of light and the goddess of the
Silren
and
Elesil
. The ruins had been there longer than Cara remembered
—
indeed, it had been there before the Truce. The
Fyr
had destroyed life throughout the Nine Worlds, but it did not destroy everything from the earlier times. The warriors dismounted and sat amid the broken stones and Cara stood before them.

“I wouldn’t say that too loudly, Commander,” Haukel remarked. “Silvain would have our heads if he knew there were followers of the warrior god amidst his kindred.”

“I am his daughter,” Cara replied brusquely. “His only heir.”

“I don’t even think that will save us, if Silvain finds out,” a woman warrior named Tora spoke. “Gods protect us, but there is something wrong with Akwel.”

“You noticed that too?” Cara remarked and glanced at the others for confirmation. There was a murmur of consensus. “Akwel and I have never been friends, but I sense something is terribly wrong. To go against the
Chi’lan
warriors is folly.”

“But what can we do?” Haukel said, his hands outstretched in a helpless gesture. “Rhyn’athel knows Silvain won’t listen to reason.”

Cara met his gaze. “He may listen to me,” she said. “I am his only heir.”

“Too risky,” Haukel replied. “There are too many warriors against us. As Akwel grows in power, he will have your father’s ear.”

“Then, we’d better act now,” Cara remarked. “Before it’s too late.”

“No, we can’t risk you,” Haukel said. The
Silren
broke into arguing.

“Enough!” spoke Cara, causing the warriors to fall silent. “I alone will speak to Silvain, though I may risk exile because of it. I am his only heir, and that may stop him from having me put to death as a traitor.”

“If he exiles you, what then?” Haukel asked.

Cara shook her head, her pale blue eyes filled with worry. “I don’t know, Haukel. I don’t know.”