Lachlei (7 page)

CHAPTER Thirteen

Cahal led Rhyn into the mead hall where the warriors had gathered. The enticing aroma of cooked meats reminded Rhyn how hungry he was. In the smoky light, he could see warriors drinking, talking, and playing various games with dice or daggers around the lit firepit. Rhyn hadn’t expected the chatter to be so loud, but he felt at ease here. These were his
Chi’lan
—
the soldiers sworn to the warrior god
—
and he knew each of them by name.

Cahal nudged him forward, and together they walked in. Heads turned to see the new
Chi’lan
as he strode by. Cahal led him to a bench just beside the fire, not far from the gamers. Servants brought them plates of food and mugs with amber liquid in them.

Rhyn’athel took a swallow of the amber liquid and grinned. It tasted honey-sweet with spices. Picking up one of the pieces of venison, he bit into it. The hot meat tasted salty with herbs. This was something he could get used to, he decided.

“I’d be careful with the metheglyn,” a familiar voice said. Rhyn’athel looked up to see his brother standing beside him, arms crossed. Suddenly, the room became still as the god halted time.

Rhyn’athel glared at him. “This will draw Areyn’s attention.”

“Not likely
—
I’ve done it before,” Ni’yah remarked. “We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Metheglyn,” he said pointing to the mead. “You’re not used to it and it affects gods more than it does mortals.”

“How would you know?” Rhyn’athel replied, taking another gulp of the mead.

“Experience,” Ni’yah said. “I once fell unconscious after downing a flagon.”

“First time you ever stopped talking?”

“Not funny,” Ni’yah replied. “The first-bloods avoid it because they have no resistance, thanks to our blood. It affects demons too, so they don’t drink it either.”

“I’ll remember to offer Areyn a drink the next time I see him,” the warrior god remarked.

“Do you want my help or not?”

“I seemed to be doing all right,” Rhyn’athel said smugly.

“Well, you haven’t gotten yourself killed, I’ll give you that,” Ni’yah said. “But this is a tough crowd.”

Rhyn’athel chuckled. “They’re
Chi’lan
.”

“They may be your
Chi’lan
but you’re not one of them,” Ni’yah warned. “You’re their commander. Even if you look like a
Chi’lan
, they’ll challenge you until you fit in or flee like a whipped cur.”

“I can handle myself,” Rhyn’athel said, taking another bite of the meat, but pushing the mead flagon away. Despite his desire to not admit that his brother was right, the god began to feel the metheglyn affect him.

Ni’yah grinned. “We’ll see.”

Ni’yah vanished and simultaneously the entire hall became alive again. Rhyn’athel chuckled. He knew Ni’yah meant well and was touched by his brother’s concern. But, Rhyn’athel was still a god
—
the most powerful god of all the gods of light, and arguably, more powerful than any other god. He chose this form, but if necessary, he could shed it.

“You must have been hungry,” Cahal remarked, looking at Rhyn’s empty plate.

“I was,” Rhyn admitted. He leaned back and watched two
Chi’lan
near the fire try to hit a mark someone had cut in an upturned table. One
Chi’lan
was a heavily scarred warrior with a broken nose. His frame was large for a
Lochvaur
—
indeed, for any
Eleion
—
making Rhyn look small in comparison.

“That’s Tamar,” said Cahal.

The big man looked up on hearing his name. He saw Rhyn and scowled. “So, this is the
Chi’lan
from North Marches,” he said, sizing Rhyn up.

“I am,” said Rhyn.

“Who made you
Chi’lan
? You don’t look like much to me.” His speech was slurred, suggesting he had drunk more than even his frame could handle.

Rhyn shrugged. “
Chi’lan
Ronan of the Marches…”

“Then, you’re no
Chi’lan
,” Tamar said. “I don’t know any
Chi’lan
Ronan. Only Fialan made
Chi’lan
.”

“Easy, Tamar, he’s first-blood,” Cahal said.

“First-blood!” Tamar spat. “First-blood? Does he think he’s better than us?”

Rhyn stood up. “I don’t want a quarrel…”

“Then, get out,” Tamar growled.

Rhyn glanced around. The other
Chi’lan
seemed mildly interested in the argument, but no one was eager to aid him, save Cahal. But Cahal was young and inexperienced.

“Tamar…” began Cahal.

 “Cahal, stay out of this,” Rhyn said. “I can defend myself.”

“Can you?” Tamar said, drawing closer. Rhyn noted that he still held the dagger. “You don’t look like much of a
Chi’lan
. No scars.”

Rhyn shrugged. “Maybe I know how to get out of the way.”

Cahal chuckled.

Tamar glared. “You don’t drink mead either.”

“I didn’t know that was a prerequisite for a
Chi’lan
.” Rhyn smiled. “It’s quite good
—
you can have mine, if you’d like.”

Tamar glared. “I wouldn’t want anything that a
Shara’kai
, half-breed from the North Marches touched.”

Cahal glanced at Rhyn. The new
Chi’lan
seemed relaxed and unoffended. “Rhyn, he just called you a half-breed.”

The god looked bored. “I’ve seen better
Ansgar
warriors than him.”

Tamar lunged, slashing with his dagger. Rhyn stepped to the right and used the big man’s momentum to toss Tamar aside. A moment later, Rhyn stood over the
Chi’lan
, his sword drawn. Tamar scrambled to stand, but was met with the tip of Rhyn’s blade inches from his face. The sword glowed blue-white in the dim light.

A murmur rippled through the
Chi’lan
and the entire mead hall became silent. Everyone stared at the Sword of Power and at the man who wielded it.

“I would be very careful whom you choose as your enemy,” Rhyn said, an edge to his voice. “Especially one who would be your friend.”

Tamar blinked. Beads of sweat trickled down his brow as he met the god’s gaze. Rhyn smiled and lowered his blade. He offered Tamar his hand.

Tamar hesitated and then took the god’s hand. Rhyn pulled the big man up and they stared at each other for a moment. Tamar smiled and Rhyn sheathed his sword. Laughter erupted throughout the
Chi’lan
. Several clapped Rhyn on the back before going back to their mead. Many went back to their business.

Tamar chuckled but he gave Rhyn an appraising look. “Where did you learn to fight like that?” he asked. “I’ve never had anyone move so quickly that they could take me down.”

“
Chi’lan
training,” Rhyn replied grinning.

Cahal stood beside them and chuckled. “Perhaps, but I’ve never seen anyone move so fast.” He nodded at the sword that hung at Rhyn’s side. “Nor have I seen a Sword of Power. I thought they were all destroyed before the Truce
—
where did you get that?”

Rhyn shrugged. “From my father.”

A lie?
Ni’yah’s voice echoed in his head.
My, are we taking this mortal thing a little too seriously?

A necessity
, Rhyn’athel replied. He met Tamar’s gaze and saw that the
Chi’lan
was studying him curiously.

“You’re more than first-blood,” Tamar said at last. He turned and took another flagon of mead before returning to the knife game.

CHAPTER Fourteen

Lachlei left the council’s chambers. The cold air bit into her face as she strode back to the great hall. Laewynd was a fool, she decided. His faith and trust in her were misplaced. She couldn’t lead the
Lochvaur
against their enemies, let alone to the greatness Fialan envisioned. And yet, there was no one else. There was no other first-blood capable of doing what she could.

But, even as she thought this, Lachlei knew she was wrong. There was Rhyn. Lachlei could sense that Rhyn was as powerful as Fialan had been. Maybe even more so. But Rhyn was a stranger and was not of Caer Lochvaren. Indeed, he was not of any
Lochvaur
line known to exist. How could the
Lochvaur
of Caer Lochvaren have missed such a bloodline? Lachlei couldn’t imagine it. Even the North Marches were not so remote when it came to blood kin.

“I told you Laewynd would make you queen,” said Kellachan as he strode beside her.

Lachlei glared at him. “Damn it, Kel, I’m not fit to lead the army.”

Kellachan grinned. “Yes, you are
—
only you won’t admit it.”

Lachlei shook her head. “Kel, my husband is dead and I must find his murderers. They have used dark magic against him.”

Kellachan nodded. “I know,” he said. He met her gaze earnestly. “Lachlei
—
have you thought that those who killed Fialan were not looking merely to slay him?”

Lachlei stared. She thought of the demon. “You think it was an attack against the
Lochvaur
?”

“What do you think?”

Lachlei gazed into the starry sky. She had thought the demon killed Fialan because he was a powerful
Lochvaur
. She had not thought about the consequences of his death. Of course, now that Fialan was gone, there was no one to protect the kindred. She shook her head, lost in her own muddled thoughts. “I think I am very tired,” she said at last. She reached the door to the great hall and pulled it open.

The noise of the hall poured into the darkness. Lachlei smiled as she saw that the warriors were still drinking. Of course, they would still be drinking. Lachlei would have crept to her private chambers unnoticed if she had a choice. But Cahal spied her as she slid through the door with Kellachan beside her. Cahal stood at attention and other
Chi’lan
followed, including Rhyn. His silver eyes seemed to cut right through her. The hall fell silent.

Lachlei frowned. She knew they were expecting her to say something. The weariness of the month filled her. She simply wanted to sleep.

“It appears that both Laewynd and the High Council have overridden my personal desires,” she said without preamble. She glanced at Kellachan who smiled at her. “The High Council has chosen me as your queen.”

A deafening roar drowned out her words. The
Chi’lan
cheered and pulled their daggers from their belts. “Lachlei! Lachlei!” they chanted and pounded their pommels against the tables to their words.

Lachlei raised her hands for silence, but they only shouted louder. Mead flowed from the barrels into flagons and someone handed her a cup. Lachlei grinned and took a gulp of the spiced honey-wine as the chanting grew louder. Almost immediately, she felt the heady rush from the drink.

“Lachlei!” Cahal said.

Lachlei turned and smiled at the younger
Chi’lan
. “What is it, Cahal?”

Cahal paused, noting her eyes were bright from the mead. “Perhaps we should talk later.”

“Perhaps we should talk now,” she said with a smile. “What is it?”

“The new
Chi’lan
, Rhyn…” he began.

“What about him?”

“He bested Tamar.”

Lachlei turned to see Rhyn gazing at her from across the room. He had been talking to Tamar and looked up, somehow sensing that she was looking at him. He was handsome, she decided, and a sly smile crept across her face. “Is that so? He bested Tamar?”

“He has a Sword of Power,” Cahal added.

Lachlei stared. “Really? Are you sure?” Even in her inebriated state, Lachlei knew the implications.

“Quite,” Cahal said. “The sword glowed.”

Lachlei considered Rhyn thoughtfully. “A Sword of Power. This is very interesting, Cahal. Who knows about this?”

Cahal shrugged. “Everyone. Rhyn took Tamar on right here in the hall.”

“There are no Swords of Power left.”

“Rhyn said he inherited the blade from his father.”

Lachlei shook her head. “No, Cahal. Swords of Power disintegrate when the forger dies. Only godlings have strong enough magic to forge a Sword of Power. Are you sure what you saw?”

“Ask anyone here if you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you,” she said, glancing at Rhyn. “I just find it extraordinary.”

Cahal glanced at Rhyn and then back at Lachlei. “Do you think he’s lying?”

Lachlei shrugged. “Not necessarily, but I think Rhyn isn’t telling us everything.” She glanced at Rhyn, and his steady silver eyes met hers. For a moment, she felt as though he had knocked down her mental defenses with ease. She shivered and broke eye contact, glancing into the empty mead cup. She turned to Cahal. “See that I’m not disturbed,” she said. She strode to the door to her private chambers and left the hall.

*****

Lachlei found that she couldn’t sleep at first, despite the mead. She had checked on her sleeping son and Wynne, his nanny, before collapsing in exhaustion. She had wept for weeks since Fialan’s death. Now, she could weep no more
—
instead, she began to think about the demon that killed Fialan.

She felt edgy
—
as though something was about to happen. The Sight did that to her frequently, but gave her only hints and clues as to the future. A random image here or there or a fleeting thought would come to her. It didn’t come when bidden, but sometimes Lachlei could summon the visions without controlling what she was summoning. The Wyrd
—
the fabric of the past, present, and future
—
was like that. Only the gods had the ability to see the entire Wyrd, but even they could not control it. Very few first-bloods had been able to summon visions and those had been primarily godlings.

Lachlei let herself drift, allowing the Sight to permeate her senses. Fialan had better control over the Sight than she had, but he too found it difficult to interpret. The Sight certainly didn’t save Fialan’s life
—
if Fialan had seen the demon, he would have avoided it.

Lachlei saw nothing save darkness. It would be dawn in a few hours and she knew she would need her rest for the work ahead. Exhausted, she fell into an uneasy sleep.