Lachlei Page 20

  “Odd that a mortal would take on one of the most powerful gods. Unless he is something else.” He looked into Eshe’s eyes and smiled. “I can’t be certain, Eshe, but I think Lochvaur has a plan to free us from Areyn’s slavery.”

  Her eyes widened. “How?”

  Fialan shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I know that with each breath of air, each drop of water, and each morsel of food I take from this world, I become stronger. You’re becoming stronger too — perhaps that’s why you fled — you felt this world permeating your body. If it continues, we may become part of the world of the living.”

  “Then, Areyn will have no control over us,” Eshe said. She hesitated and then tentatively slid her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  Desire exploded within Fialan and he took her in his arms, kissing her. Lochvaur was right — he was becoming more alive with each moment he spent in the world of the living. The part of him that was living was overwhelming his other senses. He wanted Eshe desperately now.

  Suddenly, he pulled away as though invisible hands wrested him away from her. “No!” he shouted. “No! Not now!” He met Eshe’s gaze as he staggered to his feet. “What’s happening?”

  “Areyn,” Eshe replied as she stood up. “It’ll hurt less if you don’t fight it.”

  “He can control our actions even when he isn’t here?”

  “Areyn Sehduk can control everything we do if he so wishes. He’ll force us to fight for him.”

  Fialan shook his head. Areyn gave them just enough freedom to believe that they were autonomous, only to rip it away and force them to acknowledge that they were subject to his will. Yet, Lochvaur had hope…

  Kiril entered the tent. “The demons told me to get you both,” he said, his jaw clenched as though fighting an invisible force. “The Silren army has arrived.”

  CHAPTER Forty-Eight

  “Where is Akwel?” demanded Silvain. The Silren king stood outside of Areyn Sehduk’s tent, his ice-blue eyes hard as he surveyed the army. The army he had left Areyn with had been ten thousand strong. Now, counting the wounded, they were down to a mere thirty-five hundred and being pursued by the Lochvaur and the Laddel.

  Silvain had come ready to confront the demon god on his apparent failure to secure victory beyond the North Marches. He rode with his guards from Caer Silren to take over the army. The godling had dismounted and strode to Areyn’s tent, followed by his guards.

  Areyn knew this even before he strode from the tent. “Silvain,” Areyn said with a mocking smile. He crossed his arms and gazed at the tall Silren in amusement. It had taken very little for him to shield the Braesan from Silvain’s senses. The Silren king was unprepared and walking right into Areyn’s carefully laid trap.

  “I demand that you explain yourself, Akwel,” Silvain said. “My army is decimated and in retreat…”

  “Unfortunate, but there are other players,” Areyn remarked bored. “The Lochvaur bitch, Lachlei, seems to have some help.”

  “I’m taking the army back and returning to Caer Silren.”

  Areyn laughed. “Really, Silvain?”

  Silvain stared at Areyn. “Why are you laughing?”

  “Because I never thought you could be so blind,” Areyn replied. “I would’ve thought a godling such as you could’ve seen through this guise.”

  Silvain looked taken aback. “What are you talking about, Akwel?”

  “Let’s drop the deception, shall we?” Areyn said. At that, the shell vanished and the death god stood before the Silren king. He stood before Silvain as a tall Eltar with a long, black mane and dark eyes.

  Silvain retreated, only to find his guards gone; replaced by demons. “No,” he gasped. “No…”

  Areyn Sehduk smiled. “Your daughter had the right idea, Silvain, but you were too foolish to listen to her words. Cara serves Rhyn’athel. As you will serve me.”

  “No,” Silvain said. “I am the son of Elisila, goddess of the heavens…”

  “And I am Areyn Sehduk, the god of destruction. Elisila does not hear your prayers, foolish one, but I will. There is only one other god powerful enough to fight me and you eschewed him long ago.”

  The Silren king shuddered. Areyn knew he was considering his options, but also knew that Silvain had none. Even his first-blood powers could not hope to defeat the death god. “What do you want of me?” he asked at last.

  Areyn smiled. “The same thing you want — the destruction of Rhyn’athel’s kindred.”

  “Why? Why isn’t Rhyn’athel here?”

  “Rhyn’athel may already be here, but I doubt it,” Areyn replied. “And why — I have my own reasons, Silvain. I am willing to bargain with you.”

  “Bargain? What would you bargain?”

  “Your life and the lives of your kindred for your compliance.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then you serve me anyway as a Braesan — an Undead,” Areyn replied. “Like my friend, Lochvaur.”

  “Lochvaur?” Silvain could not disguise the disbelief in his voice. “Lochvaur is here?”

  “He serves me — along with his dead Chi’lan. You can serve me alive or dead, Silvain, it is your choice. But you will serve me.”

  Silvain looked around and saw the massive encampment where the Braesan now waited. He looked at his warriors who stood beside him, unable to help him. At last, he met the death god’s gaze.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  *****

  Deep within the Athelren Mountains, the great walled city of the gods sat beneath the blue skies. Overhead, the twin suns shone, making the white walls of the fortress-city glitter in their magnificence. Lofty towers and brilliant spires rose above those walls — their beauty conceived in one single thought of the Athel’cen. Within those walls were the castles of the gods, including the wolf-god’s own hall.

  Ni’yah smiled as he gazed at his handiwork. He was fond of the walled city, but found it too perfect. There was little challenge in Athelren and none within the city of the gods since Rhyn’athel had forced Areyn from the world of the Athel’cen. The displacement of the Eleion and Ansgar had much to do with his boredom — they provided a challenge that was now gone in this world.

  Ni’yah strode through the open gates where the Watchers stood guard. They were creatures who took the form of silver dragons, but were not creatures of the Fyr as dragons were, but actual Wyrd-born creatures that Rhyn’athel brought forth from the Web to guard the city. They lowered their heads in respect as Ni’yah strode past them.

  Once inside the gates, Ni’yah noted the stillness of the world. Nowhere was it more pronounced than here, in the great city of the gods. The glistening streets and towers were all deserted, save perhaps for the gods’ own servants. The great halls, palatial residences, and garrisons were empty, just as the fields outside of the city lay fallow. It was spring, but there would be no crops. The gods didn’t need sustenance, and there were few in this world who did.

  He walked towards the palace of Elisila. It stood imposing before him, its tall columns stretched upward, holding a beautiful dome of starlight above.

  “Ni’yah,” came a voice. “I hardly expected to see you in Athelren.”

  Ni’yah turned and saw a beautiful woman with silver hair and pale blue eyes. She was tall and fair-skinned, wearing a dress that shimmered like the stars. Ni’yah grinned roguishly. “Elisila!” he said.

  Elisila frowned. “I know that look,” she said. “You’re scheming…”

  “Scheming? Me?” Ni’yah feigned an injured look. “Elisila, have I ever led you astray?”

  “Many times,” she said. “I should turn you out for that last little trick you pulled.”

  “It was a joke — no harm done,” Ni’yah remarked. “Listen, I’m on an important mission. Rhyn’athel sent me.”

  Elisila’s face grew darker. “Then, I don’t want any part of it.” She vanished.

  Ni’yah smacked his head against a nearby column. “I forgot h
ow touchy she is,” he remarked to no one. With that, he vanished and rematerialized in Elisila’s great hall.

  It was as impressive inside as it was outside. The inlayed stone along the floor and wall sparkled like stars in a deep blue firmament. He gazed at her handiwork in appreciation. “Nicely done,” he said.

  Elisila sat on her throne at the end of the hall. “If Rhyn’athel sent you, I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped.

  Ni’yah sighed. “OK, not Rhyn’athel. I’m here on my own behalf. Do you know Areyn is in Elren?”

  “So is Rhyn’athel,” Elisila shrugged. “The Truce is broken.”

  “Then you know Areyn Sehduk has control of the Silren,” Ni’yah said. “He will enlist the aid of the Elesil as well.”

  Elisila paused. “Listen, Ni’yah, Rhyn’athel forced us all out of Elren long ago with that damn treaty. It’s up to him to fix his mistake.”

  “Even at the cost of your own son’s life?”

  A muscle twitched in her face. “I’ve already lost one son to Areyn Sehduk.”

  “I’m not willing to lose mine,” Ni’yah replied. “You still have Silvain — if you act now.”

  Indecision glowed in her eyes for a moment, and then she laughed. “Ni’yah, this is not my realm any longer. Go plead your case to sympathetic ears.”

  “There’s no one else,” Ni’yah said. “I need for you to speak to Conlan — tell him not to support the Silren.”

  Elisila smiled, but her smile was coldly patronizing. “You’re Athel’cen, Ni’yah, not I,” she said. “Certainly, you need not my insignificant power to obtain what you wish.”

  Ni’yah flashed his teeth, but it was not a smile. His brass eyes flashed with power, and Elisila would have withdrawn if she could. Instead, she met the wolf-god’s gaze.

  “I’m willing to play fairly for the sake of my brother, Elisila, but I will do what I must to ensure victory. As an Athel’cen.” With that, he vanished.

  CHAPTER Forty-Nine

  Rhyn’athel insisted on keeping guard over Lachlei while she lay down to rest. Despite his exhaustion, he refused to lie down again. He sat on a stone beside her and admonished himself for being so lax. In his desire to make love to her, the warrior god had let his guard down — something he wouldn’t have normally done.

  What had disturbed the warrior god was not only the timing of the demon’s attack, but also the purpose. The demon had gone after Lachlei — not him. Demons were notoriously stupid — and willing to follow orders precisely. The heath-stalker was ordered to capture Lachlei and bring her alive to Areyn.

  It meant that Areyn knew Lachlei’s future in the Nine Worlds’ destiny. It meant that Areyn probably knew that the warrior, Rhyn, was none other than Rhyn’athel. It also meant that Areyn Sehduk was getting bolder. Or desperate. Or both.

  Rhyn’athel gazed on Lachlei as he pondered the new patterns of the Wyrd. He admitted to himself that he had been directly responsible for the change to the Wyrd. But with all the Athel’cen in Elren, their presence complicated things considerably. The Wyrd didn’t fully reveal the changes, but rather showed the ripples and how they could change the course of the future.

  I never thought I could love another. And yet I love you, Lachlei had said. Rhyn’athel gazed on her face, wishing desperately that he had more time alone with her. She would have loved him.

  The demon could have appeared at a worse time, Rhyn’athel admitted to himself wryly. If the heath-stalker had appeared a few minutes later, it would have forced Rhyn’athel to shed his body and reveal his true identity. Then, all would know, and the delicate game he played with Areyn Sehduk would end.

  There would be another time, he silently promised himself.

  He felt a touch on his shoulder and looked up. Cahal stood over him and grinned. “Gods, Rhyn, I don’t know how you do it, but you need some rest.”

  Rhyn hesitated. He hadn’t slept, and the fight with the heath-stalker had pushed this body to its very limit. He was exhausted, and yet Lachlei needed a guard. “Someone needs to watch Lachlei,” he said.

  “I will keep watch,” Cahal replied. “Get some sleep — I’ll alert you if the demons come around.”

  “But Lachlei…” he began.

  “Will be safe if we’re both near her,” Cahal said. “Sleep beside her, Rhyn. I will keep watch.” He grinned knowingly.

  Rhyn chuckled and nodded. He settled down next to her and gently took her in his arms. Lachlei’s eyes fluttered open for a brief moment, and she smiled as she felt his arms wrap around her. The warmth of her body relaxed him — as much as her feelings of love for him. He wanted her now, but Rhyn could not risk another chance encounter with the demons.

  Lachlei was nearly asleep from exhaustion. She had stripped the gory mail, underlying arming shirt and padded leggings, and was down to a simple tunic and breeches. If she had to, she could don her armor quickly enough, but another demon attack would warrant Rhyn’athel protecting her at any cost.

  As he felt her muscular frame against his, the warrior god relaxed. It was when, not if, and he accepted the fate with quiet confidence. He had waited this long, he could wait a little longer. He closed his eyes, hoping he would rest.

  Yet, despite his fatigue, Rhyn’athel could not sleep. Instead, he pondered Lachlei’s question — how the Fyr had destroyed the very thing it created and if Areyn would use it again. He had discounted it when he had spoken to her — another lie, if harmless — but in truth, Rhyn’athel had no answer. Rhyn’athel could not fully control two things, despite all his powers as an Athel’cen. One was the Wyrd; the other was the Fyr.

  The Wyrd had created the Athel’cen, perhaps as guardians for it. Rhyn’athel likened it to a web or a tapestry. It wove itself into patterns that created and destroyed. At some point, it began to create. The Athel’cen and the Guardians were the result.

  Rhyn’athel never understood the full reason behind his own existence, let alone the Wyrd’s. It was mindless in many ways, and yet had a purpose. The Athel’cen were not the first of the Wyrd-born, but they were the most powerful. They could change portions of the Wyrd through their existence, but nothing could actually change the strands themselves or reweave them in another manner.

  The Fyr was part of the Wyrd. Like the Wyrd, the Athel’cen could affect the Fyr, but it was dangerous and tricky to handle. Rhyn’athel drew on its power to create; Areyn called on it to destroy. Once it was unleashed, it was difficult to contain. The Fyr was the chaos to the Wyrd’s order. Rhyn’athel had failed to control the Fyr when Areyn had unleashed it on the world. It had destroyed everything, save the walled city of Athelren.

  Areyn would use it only in desperation, Rhyn’athel decided. Only if Rhyn’athel had the obvious upper hand.

  But what could Rhyn’athel do if Areyn decided to unleash it?

  “Rhyn?” Lachlei’s voice drew him from his reverie. “Rhyn?” she murmured again, this time, her voice distant and dreamlike. The warrior god smiled as he slipped into her dreams.

  I am here, beloved.

  *****

  “There’s a large wolf following us.”

  Cara, the renegade daughter of Silvain, twisted in her saddle to look for movement. In the twilight, she could see nothing save shadows among the grasses that blew in the breeze. She turned to Haukel. “Are you sure?” She slowed her horse to a walk. The other Silren followed her actions.

  “Quite — it’s been following us for some time,” Haukel said. “It’s a big one, too — might be one of Areyn’s Yeth Hounds.”

  Cara nodded slowly. Although the Yeth Hounds had not entered this world in two thousand years, she had seen shadows of demons fly overhead. “They normally run in packs, but this one might be a straggler. Let’s be prepared. Everyone nock your arrows.”

  The Silren warriors pulled their light bows and nocked their arrows. They rode into a circle to cover their flanks. Suddenly, they heard a scream overhead. A shadow passed over them, and Cara released her arrow. The other Silren sho
t at the dark shadow in the sky. It circled once before heading southward.

  “Hold your fire,” came a strange voice.

  Cara looked down to see an enormous gray wolf standing before them in the waning light. She lowered her weapon. “You can talk?” she asked. “What manner of wolf are you?”

  The wolf grinned. “A wolf that would be your friend, Cara, daughter of Silvain, heir of the Silren,” he said. “You’d just be wasting arrows on the demon if they aren’t tipped with adamantine.”

  “Demon,” she whispered as she watched the shadow head southward.

  “You’re in a precarious position, daughter of Silvain,” the wolf remarked. “Outcast from your kindred, if you approach the Lochvaur and Laddel, you’ll be shot before you could surrender — or even if they did accept you, you would not be allowed to fight.”

  “How do you know so much about me?”

  “Rhyn’athel is not the only Athel’cen who hears your prayers.”

  Cara and Haukel glanced at each other. Whispers ran through the other Silren warriors. “Ni’yah?” she asked. “I had heard rumors that you still walked this world, but I scarcely believed it.”

  Ni’yah transmuted into his Eleion form and grinned. “There are other Athel’cen who walk this world now. You’ve already seen Areyn.”

  “Areyn Sehduk?” Haukel said, turning to Cara in wonder. “Could this be true?”

  Cara’s face darkened. “Akwel,” she said. “I knew there was something wrong with him. But how do I know that you are Ni’yah? There are many treacherous spirits wandering this world now.”

  “I know all of you here serve my brother, Rhyn’athel,” Ni’yah said. “And I know what Areyn said to you before you could talk to Silvain alone.”

  Cara stared. “What do you know of it?”

  “Areyn threatened to expose those of you who are Rhyn’athel’s followers.”

  “You didn’t tell us that,” Haukel said, turning to her. “How could he have known?”