Lachlei (8 page)

CHAPTER Fifteen

Fialan followed Eshe across the plains as the “sun” rose into the dark sky. Unlike Sowelu, the sun of
Elren
, this sun was swollen and red, but cast little heat and almost no light. It provided little warmth in this barren place. Fialan wrapped his cloak around himself, but the cold wind cut through it.

Fialan marveled that he was still dressed much the same as he had when he died
—
assuming he had died. He didn’t quite believe the
Chi’lan
named Eshe. She didn’t talk or look back as she walked across the barren landscape towards what appeared to be cliffs in the distance.

And yet, the world was as alien as anything Fialan had ever dreamed of. It was bleak and red, obviously due to a play of the sun’s light on the land. As his eyes began to adjust to the dimness, he could see other
Eleion
wandering the vast plains. Some huddled in groups; some alone. Occasionally, a few considered him with interest, but most ignored his presence and none spoke to him.

Fialan caught up with Eshe and grasped her arm. She had drawn her cowl over her head and wrapped the cloak tightly around herself against the cold. “Will you talk to me?”

Eshe paused. “Why?”

“You spoke to me earlier.”

“That’s because I had to,” she said, pulling her arm from his grasp.

“Why?” Fialan asked.

“Because I had to,” she said and turned to leave. He caught her arm again. “Leave me alone, Fialan.”

“No,” Fialan said. “How long have you been here?”

“Time doesn’t mean anything here.”

“It must,” Fialan mused. “You said you served Lochvaur in the Battle of the Nine Worlds?”

Eshe glared at him. Fialan held her arm. “Yes,” she said at last. “Let me go.”

“No. I won’t unless you answer my questions.”

“I could use my polearm.”

“And I could use my sword,” Fialan said. “But if what you say is true, and I am dead, then you can’t kill me again.”

“You’ll feel pain,” Eshe replied.

A smile played across Fialan’s lips. “Really?”

“What’s so amusing?” She stared at him.

“You and I could fight each other and not die,” he said.

“You’ll regenerate your body.”

“Courtesy of Areyn Sehduk?”

Her eyes hardened
—
steel points within the darkness of the cowl. “Yes.”

“But I am Rhyn’athel’s champion,” he said.

“
Were
Rhyn’athel’s champion,” she said. “Rhyn’athel has no power here.”

“Why do you say that?” he said. “You’re
Chi’lan
—
you’re Rhyn’athel’s warrior.”

Eshe shook her head. “I
was
Rhyn’athel’s warrior,” she said. “Rhyn’athel abandoned us to Areyn after the war. Areyn took the dead, Fialan. We are beholden to the death god.”

“I don’t believe that,” Fialan said.

“You’ve just died, you don’t know…”

“Don’t know what?”

Again, the hatred glowed in her eyes. “You’ll learn…”

“Learn what?”

Eshe took a breath. “You have no will save Areyn’s. You will do as he commands.” She looked on him in pity. “Fialan, Rhyn’athel has abandoned us to our fate with the death god. Rhyn’athel has abandoned his own son, Lochvaur, to Areyn for the sake of the Nine Worlds. No one, save perhaps Lochvaur and a few of his followers believe that Rhyn’athel will return for us. It has been so long, Fialan.”

“So, you believe you should just give up?” Fialan asked.

Eshe shook her head. “Fialan, I used to believe as you do. But Areyn uses us; he drains us of our life force like a leech until we can barely survive. But, we are creations of Rhyn’athel and we grow strong again
—
only to feed Areyn.” She shuddered and pulled herself away. “It’s awful
—
and we don’t speak of it ever. You’ll learn.”

Fialan let her go and she shuffled away from him. The thought of having his life force drained filled him with horror, but he pushed it from his mind.

“Lochvaur hasn’t given up
—
why?” Fialan asked.

Eshe stopped and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Eshe
—
wait!” Fialan called to her. At first, he thought she would continue forward, but she stopped and turned around. “I’ll leave you alone after this
—
I promise.”

Eshe’s eyes glinted under her dark cowl. “What is it?”

“I have been the strongest
Chi’lan
champion since Lochvaur. No mortal creature slew me, Eshe.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It
does
matter. It matters not just to me, but to the Nine Worlds. I was Rhyn’athel’s champion and the creature that killed me should have died when I thrust my blade into it.”

Eshe lowered her hood. “You killed it?”

“It was supposedly a
Silren
, Eshe, but it killed my
Chi’lan
warriors with a glance. I struck it in the chest. It would’ve killed a first-blood, Eshe. My sword was a magical weapon.”

Eshe paused. “Your sword was adamantine?”

“From
Athelren
. Nothing could’ve survived
Fyren’s
blow.”

“
Fyren
?” she whispered. “
Fyren
?”

“You know the blade, then?”

“
Fyren
is a legendary demon slayer,” Eshe said. “It was Lochvaur’s blade before he forged his own Sword of Power. No demon could withstand that sword.”

“Whatever killed me did,” Fialan said. “I buried
Fyren
into its chest. It prevented me from using my powers.”

A glint of hope shone in Eshe’s eyes. “There are very few that could withstand that blade. That who could withstand
Fyren
, would violate the Truce…”

Fialan grinned. “My thoughts exactly.”

“What do you want of me?”

“Take me to Lochvaur,” he said.

CHAPTER Sixteen

Something wasn’t right.

Ronan walked along the stockade fencing of North Marches, his senses at peak awareness. As commanding
Chi’lan
, Ronan was in charge of North Marches defenses, such as they were. Although he was not first-blood, Ronan came from ancient lines, and his instincts were sharply aware of both magical and non-magical dangers. His instincts told him something was about to happen.

Ronan nodded to one of the sentries he passed along the earthen ramparts. It was quiet tonight, and the soldiers were making their rounds as they always had. It was routine, and yet…

Ronan gazed into the darkness. The forest that surrounded the village of North Marches crested a hill to the north
—
the beginnings of the Lochvaren Mountains lay to the north and west. To the east lay the
Silren
lands. Ronan had never been fond of the
Silren
—
what he had seen of them. Most avoided the village of North Marches, but a few did make their way here. Despite the
Lochvaur
attempt in friendship, most
Silren
preferred to avoid the
Lochvaur
.

“
Silren
,” he muttered as he walked towards one of the other
Chi’lan
stationed along the ramparts. “Alasila, do you see anything tonight?”

“Ronan,” the woman nodded. Alasila was one of the many women
Chi’lan
in North Marches. “Nothing save the cursed moon.”

Ronan chuckled, looking up at the pale moon. “Tomah and Iamar don’t even show themselves with that evil thing. I was wondering if you had seen anything to worry about.”

Alasila shook her head. “Nothing.” She gave Ronan an appraising look. “Do you sense something?”

“Maybe,” Ronan said. He gazed out at the forest and saw a shadow creep along the ground. “What do you make of that?”

Alasila looked out at the shadow as it crept towards the village. “Fog, maybe?”

Ronan frowned. “The fog comes from the valleys, not the hills.” He stared at it for a minute. “Signal the watch,” he said. “It’s an army.”

“An army?” Alasila glanced at the shadow. She could see nothing unusual about it.

“Do what I say!” Ronan snarled. “We need all available warriors here now!”

*****

The bells of North Marches pealed across the land. Deep within the mist, the
Silren
army rode with Areyn at the lead. Areyn swore and reined the demon horse as the watch fires along the North Marches’ ramparts sprang to life.

“They’ve seen us,” said Galen.

Areyn almost killed the commander, but held his temper. The fool would die soon enough, but now Areyn needed him. “Give the command to charge,” Areyn said.

“But the ramparts…”

“I’ll take care of the ramparts,” Areyn said. “Lead them!”

Galen nodded and turned to his warriors. “The order has been given! Charge!”

All at once, the mist blew away, revealing thousands of
Silren
riders. Galen brandished his sword and with a cry, spurred his horse forward. The entire cavalry charged with him.

Areyn gazed at the ramparts. With a single thought, the entire wall blew apart, throwing soldiers and
Chi’lan
everywhere. Areyn Sehduk felt the surge of power as he sensed the soldiers deaths. He grinned, almost giddy. It would be a good night.

*****

Ronan lay half covered with rubble. The explosion had thrown him and the other soldiers from the rampart. Even now, he could see the
Silren
cavalry ride through the breech. He realized they had made a tactical error by stationing so many guards along the ramparts. Still, he hadn’t expected the
Silren
to destroy the wall so easily.

The chaos of battle surrounded him, but Ronan could do nothing. He couldn’t feel his legs. Blood was everywhere, and Ronan could see that his lower body was twisted at an odd angle. His sword was gone. Alasila lay nearby, her eyes half open and glazed over.

Chi’lan
fought against the mounted warriors, but there were too many
Silren
. One man, cleaved from shoulder to chest, collapsed on top of Ronan, but the dying
Chi’lan
could do nothing. He heard those who were still alive sound the retreat and flee, leaving him alone to die.

Then he felt it. Cold seemed to grip his very soul, and Ronan turned to see the dark rider as he rode through the breech. The rider approached slowly, carefully, as though studying the dead. He halted at Alasila and his mount lowered its head as though to inspect its grisly work.

“Leave her alone!” Ronan said, without thinking.

The dark warrior turned towards Ronan, a sardonic smile on his face. “Well, Slayer, one still lives.”

The beast turned its gaze towards Ronan, and Ronan stared at the demon. Gone were the trappings of a horse. Instead, red eyes glowed above a maw of sharp teeth. Its legs weren’t horse-like at all
—
instead it was muscular with sharp claws. Why had Ronan thought it was a horse?

“By Rhyn’athel’s sword,” Ronan whispered.

The rider was grinning broadly now. “Rhyn’athel has no power here,” he said. “But I do.”

The beast rose up and turned on Ronan, silencing the
Chi’lan
even before he could scream.

*****

Lachlei awoke in a sweat. She sat up straight, shivering violently. The last thing she could remember was some
thing
leaning over her, drinking the life from her body. She shuddered, pulling the bedclothes around her. She tried desperately to recall what she dreamt, but only violent images remained. A battle? It seemed more like a slaughter.

The mead hall was silent now, leaving her in the darkness and alone. Lachlei slid from the bed and leaned over Haellsil’s cradle to check on him. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest assured Lachlei he was all right. She hastily dressed in a tunic and breeches, fastened on her swordbelt, and opened the locked doors to the hall.

Outside, the guard was standing there. A quick shake of her head told him that he was to say nothing. Lachlei peered out and saw that the fire in the firepit was dying and cast the entire hall in shadows. The warriors lay stretched out around the fire, sleeping the mead off in their bedrolls. A few quietly played dice in the corner, but overall, the room was still.

A hand on her shoulder brought her around abruptly. It was Rhyn, and his expression was grave.

“North Marches has just been attacked,” he said.

CHAPTER Seventeen

“Are you sure?” Lachlei whispered as Rhyn led her past the sleeping warriors.

“Quite sure
—
you dreamt it too, didn’t you?” Rhyn said, anger and helplessness glinting in his silver eyes. “I should’ve listened to my brother
—
he warned me…” he said more to himself than to her.

“How could your brother know?”

Rhyn paused and realized what he had said. “He couldn’t,” he said quickly. “Listen, what you saw tonight was the Wyrd. You saw the attack of North Marches.”

“It was a slaughter,” she whispered. “You saw it?”

“I did,” he said grimly. “It woke me too. Tell me what you saw.”

“A creature bending over me
—
wanting to suck out my life.”

Areyn,
Rhyn’athel thought darkly.
Or a demon.

“It’s the same creature that killed Fialan, isn’t it?” Lachlei asked.

Rhyn’athel stared. “What do you know about the creature that killed Fialan?” he asked sharply.

“It was a demon, wasn’t it?” she asked.

Rhyn’athel gazed at her dumbfounded. How did Lachlei recognize Areyn Sehduk or his demon mount? Rhyn’athel began to wonder if perhaps he had underestimated the
Eleion
, and especially, the
Lochvaur
. “A type of demon, yes,” said Rhyn’athel at last.

Lachlei met his gaze. “What are you, Rhyn?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re more powerful than any first-blood I’ve ever seen. You’ve appeared with Fialan’s death. You’ve bested Tamar
—
our strongest warrior. And you have a Sword of Power. You’re not an ordinary warrior or just a
Chi’lan
for that matter…”

Rhyn’athel frowned and turned away. Was it that obvious? He looked in askance for Ni’yah, but his brother wasn’t there. Rhyn’athel guessed that the wolf-god was at North Marches, having sensed Areyn’s work.

“No, I’m not,” he said at last. “I’m a demon slayer of sorts.”

“A demon slayer? Like Lochvaur?” Lachlei stared at him dumbfounded.

Rhyn’athel nodded. It was a partial truth. “Fialan’s death brought me here.”

Lachlei shook her head. “I thought a demon killed Fialan. I could sense the foul magic on the corpses.” She buried her face in her hands and began to weep softly.

Rhyn’athel hesitated and then gently put his arms around her. Again, he felt the pleasant shock of her touch; again, he was reminded why he had been so eager to take a mortal form. She did not resist. “I can’t rest until the demon is gone from this world,” he said.

Lachlei looked up, her eyes bright with tears. “You will avenge Fialan’s death?”

“Fialan was blood kin, albeit distantly,” Rhyn said. “I have slain demons before.”

Lachlei paused. “How can this be? The duty falls on me, since I was his consort.”

“But you don’t have …” Rhyn paused.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Rhyn replied.

“You were going to say that I don’t have the power to kill a demon,” Lachlei said.

Rhyn’athel stared at her again.
Were his defenses down? Could she read his mind?
A quick check told him they were in place. “Yes,” he admitted. “You don’t. Fialan didn’t.”

“Teach me.”

Rhyn paused. “You want me to teach you how to fight a demon?”

“We will have to go to North Marches,” she said. “We must avenge their murders and take back our lands.”

Rhyn’athel nodded, considering her thoughtfully. Could he possibly teach the
Eleion
to kill demons? His son, Lochvaur, had fought demons fifteen hundred years before
—
but Lochvaur had been a godling, not just a first-blood. Still, the prospect intrigued Rhyn’athel. “Yes, we do.”

“I have a score to settle with this demon,” she said.

So do I,
Rhyn’athel thought.

*****

Dawn came cold and blood-red over North Marches. Ravens and other scavengers slunk around the bodies of the slain. The acrid smell of smoke wafted through the battlefield. All that was left of North Marches was a smoldering ruin. The
Silren
had torched the village, setting many occupied buildings alight and shooting those who dared try to escape the merciless flames.

Areyn stood among the bodies, reveling in the death while the
Silren
searched for survivors. There would be none
—
Areyn had made certain of it. Thousands of
Lochvaur
had perished in a few short hours, either at the hand of the
Silren
or through Areyn Sehduk, himself.

Areyn’s demon mount was nowhere to be found. Areyn suspected the demon was looking for more dying souls. It had been a good feeding, and the demon was seeking the remnants of the slaughter. It would return once it was sated.

Galen strode towards Areyn. “There are no survivors.”

“Good,” Areyn replied. “This will help clean the
Lochvaur
plague from
Silren
lands.”

“Indeed,” the general said. “But we could’ve used the women and children for the slave trade.”

“Maybe next time,” Areyn replied, but he doubted it. Areyn Sehduk enjoyed the slave trade immensely, but he needed deaths now. It took power to hold this guise. Unlike the gods of light, Areyn needed the life force of the dying. Their lives made him Rhyn’athel’s equal. Without their deaths, Areyn would be little more than a demon, himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, Areyn saw a silver wolf slink away. He turned towards it and grinned.
Spying for your brother again, Ni’yah?

The wolf made no reply, but paused and glared at Areyn balefully with his brass eyes. The wolf turned and fled into the dark forest with Areyn’s mocking laughter ringing in his ears.