Lachlei Read online

  “Charge! Charge!” she shouted and then stared. “Chi’lan? What manner of devilry is this?” She gazed at the warriors who attacked — they were Chi’lan; not Silren, Eltar, or demons. Areyn’s warriors forced Lachlei’s Chi’lan into a retreat, fighting as they withdrew.

  Rhyn leapt on his own horse and rode to her. “Lachlei!” he shouted grasping her arm and hauling her up to his saddle.

  “What is happening, Rhyn?” she gasped as he carried her away.

  “Areyn uses the dead against us,” he said grimly. “He uses my own Chi’lan in this fight.”

  “Your own?” she began.

  “Our own,” Rhyn said hastily. Another heath-stalker swooped down on them, and Rhyn killed it with a single cut from Teiwaz. “Areyn has brought a hundred thousand Braesan — Undead.”

  “A hundred thousand?” Lachlei gasped. “Our army can’t withstand that. Sound the retreat.”

  Retreat! Retreat! she heard Rhyn mindspeak across the battlefield. He glanced at her. “Rally point?”

  “The knoll,” she said and heard him relay the message in mindspeak to the troops.

  Suddenly, the troops parted. Two warriors came riding towards Rhyn and Lachlei. Lachlei gasped as she saw a warrior that looked exactly like Rhyn riding towards them — and another, more familiar face.

  “Fialan!” she gasped. What is happening Rhyn? Why does that warrior look like you?

  The warrior god made no response. Instead, Rhyn’athel turned his horse around and met his son’s gaze as both Fialan and Lochvaur reined their steeds. Their faces twisted in pain as they fought Areyn’s power over them.

  I can’t control it, father, Lochvaur said. Areyn is just too strong.

  Fialan drew his sword. Lachlei, beloved, he mindspoke. They started forward.

  Rhyn’athel closed his eyes. Forgive me, my son, he whispered. I will free you. Flame shot between him and the Braesan. Their horses reared and turned away. Lochvaur and Fialan rode past Rhyn’athel and Lachlei.

  The warrior god turned his horse and headed towards the knoll.

  *****

  Fialan glanced at Lochvaur as they rode on. “That was Lachlei!” he shouted to the godling.

  “I know,” said Lochvaur.

  “Was that…?”

  Lochvaur’s glance silenced Fialan.

  “What happened? We should have attacked,” Fialan said.

  Rhyn’athel has spared us the pain of fighting him, Lochvaur said in mindspeak.

  Then, we are free?

  Lochvaur shook his head. Rhyn’athel has not chosen to free us yet.

  Fialan closed his eyes. “Lachlei,” he whispered as he felt Areyn’s power grip him again. He charged at the fleeing army, cutting through warriors as they retreated.

  How could the warrior god betray him so? How could Rhyn’athel betray his own son?

  *****

  Chi’lan and Laddel archers defended the rally point. As Rhyn rode towards his army, demons and Areyn’s warriors chased him. On arriving, the archers let loose their arrow storm, cutting down all. Rhyn sent a wave of fire through the Braesan ranks.

  “Rhyn! We must retreat!” Cahal shouted as they rode up.

  Rhyn turned to Cahal. “Get her a horse — I’ll try to hold them off!”

  Lachlei stared. “What are you saying?”

  “Get off now!” Rhyn ordered. He grasped her around the middle, and with one arm slid her off his warhorse.

  Cahal offered Lachlei a hand up. “Come on, Lachlei!”

  Lachlei ignored Cahal and turned to Rhyn. “What are you doing?”

  “Go!” Rhyn demanded. “Get the army out of here!” He spurred his horse forward.

  “Come on, Lachlei — take my hand,” Cahal said as she stood watching Rhyn leave.

  Reluctantly, Lachlei grasped Cahal’s hand and swung behind the Chi’lan. Cahal turned his horse and urged it away from the charging Braesan. “Retreat! Retreat!” Cahal shouted as they fled the Undead.

  Rhyn’athel stared ahead at the oncoming warriors. He could obliterate Areyn’s army, but with the energy Areyn would devour with that huge amount of death, the death god could regenerate them just as fast. Rhyn’athel turned and saw the demons coming in. They would lose the army to Areyn if he didn’t do something now.

  Cold anger welled inside him. Rhyn’athel was tired of the charade and tired of Areyn. He reined his horse and stood alone on the small hillock to face the approaching Undead. The warrior god drew Teiwaz and focused on his powers. With a single thought, a wall of flame rose from the ground and raced towards Areyn Sehduk’s army. He closed his eyes as he heard the anguished screams of the Braesan and felt them pulled back to Tarentor. The wall of fire leapt up, consuming the demons as they flew towards him. When Rhyn’athel opened his eyes again, he saw Ni’yah standing beside him.

  “You realize what you just did,” the wolf-god said, his brass eyes meeting Rhyn’athel’s gaze.

  “I bought us enough time to return to Caer Lochvaren,” Rhyn’athel replied brusquely. He turned away. “Where is Lachlei?”

  “You destroyed the Braesan and the demons — Areyn will know now that you are here.”

  Rhyn’athel turned to meet the wolf-god’s gaze. Despite the mortal body, he looked like an avenging god. “You wanted me in this war, brother. Now you have me. Be careful what you wish for.”

  CHAPTER Fifty-Five

  The flame raced towards the Braesan. The fires spread from one point and fanned out in a giant wall of blue flame. The demons fled from it, but the blaze consumed them. The Undead warriors scrambled to flee the inferno, but it quickly overtook them, too. Screams echoed across the battlefield and then were suddenly silent. The flame took all: Braesan, living, and dead. Even the blood-soaked grasses and bodies were consumed.

  Fialan turned to Lochvaur and saw the godling grin before the flames hit them. Searing pain shot through Fialan, and he fell unconscious.

  *****

  Areyn Sehduk stared in shock at the inferno as it raced towards them. He spread his hands and drew on his dark powers, warding off the terrible magic. Imdyr, who still rode beside him, shrieked in terror, threw her hood over her head and pulled it down over her face. The flames lapped at his shield like the sea against the sand before dissipating.

  The god of death stared at the devastation. The ground had been burned to the very soil, causing it to blacken. What little of his army survived were Silren — he had used the Braesan as his shock troops. No godling could have destroyed his power. No god could have done this — save one — not even Ni’yah, who was Athel’cen. His mind returned to the face of his old adversary, and again to the warrior who rode against him. The magic around the warrior had been impenetrable; his face had been familiar, and yet unrecognizable…

  Rhyn’athel.

  The name of the warrior god brought fear into Areyn’s soul. Only Rhyn’athel had enough power to bring pain on the god of death. Only Rhyn’athel could have destroyed Areyn’s Undead like this — and yet, Areyn had not been prepared for such a confrontation.

  In truth, Areyn Sehduk had not expected Rhyn’athel to enter the war so early. The god of warriors was usually conservative, preferring to bide his time. Areyn had considered Lochvaur’s claims of Rhyn’athel’s return to Elren to be nothing more than boasts, but now he began to wonder how much the godling knew. Despite owning Lochvaur’s soul and even forcing his submission, Areyn could not quite control the godling, nor could he read Lochvaur’s mind.

  Perhaps it was time to deal with the godling directly.

  Areyn gazed at Imdyr, who cowered on her horse beside him. “Well, Eltar bitch?”

  Imdyr shuddered and drew her hood back tentatively. “It was the god of warriors,” she replied.

  “I know that,” he snapped. “How do I stop him?”

  Imdyr shook her head. Fear filled her dark eyes. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Rhyn’athel is powerful.”

  “But not invincible,” Areyn replied. “It took a lot of p
ower to shatter my defenses and destroy the Braesan like that. How much does he have?”

  Imdyr eyes became unfocused for a few moments. “Rhyn’athel is more powerful than before,” she said. “But then, so are you.”

  “Is he more powerful than I am?” Areyn Sehduk demanded.

  Imdyr shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “You have grown in power over the years. It appears you are now equally matched.”

  “Equally matched,” Areyn Sehduk licked his lips in anticipation. “Perhaps the godling knows more about this.” At that, he summoned Lochvaur, who appeared before both of them.

  Lochvaur stood in his new shadow body, arms crossed against his chest, his silver eyes defiant as they met Areyn’s. He was a tall warrior — nearly as tall as Rhyn’athel — and imposing with broad shoulders, angular features, and piercing eyes. His Sword of Power hung at his side. He was something Areyn had never fully understood — not quite Eleion, but not quite god. He was the epitome of Rhyn’athel’s arrogance. As long as Lochvaur existed, he would be a constant reminder that Rhyn’athel had been the more powerful god.

  “What is this creature doing here?” Lochvaur said as he turned his baleful gaze on Imdyr.

  Imdyr reined her horse backward in fear. Areyn raised his hand in a motion to stop her. “She serves at my whim.”

  “Then she is a fool,” Lochvaur spat. He turned to her. “You’ll regret your decision, dark one,” he said. “Though you’ve already twisted the Wyrd to your purposes, haven’t you? I know what you carry.”

  Imdyr grew pale. “This is a dangerous creature,” she said to Areyn. “Why do you insist on using him?”

  Areyn Sehduk had watched the interplay with interest. Lochvaur had seen something he had not. “Perhaps because the son of Rhyn’athel may still have some use to me,” he replied.

  “He will lead you down false paths.”

  “Really?” Areyn smiled. “I never said I trusted him.” He turned to Lochvaur. “What is Rhyn’athel’s plan?”

  “Why don’t you ask Rhyn’athel, yourself?”

  Areyn resisted the urge to use his mace to smash the godling’s sardonic smile off his face. “Because it’s easier to ask you. You can’t lie to me. Why is Rhyn’athel here in Elren?”

  “Because you’re here,” Lochvaur replied. “You didn’t think Fialan’s death would go unnoticed?”

  Areyn frowned. “It was the damn wolf-cur, wasn’t it?”

  Lochvaur grinned. “Ni’yah? He had something to do with it, yes.”

  Areyn’s gaze narrowed. “You know nothing?” he demanded, circling the godling slowly with his horse.

  Lochvaur stood rigid. “Why do you think Rhyn’athel would share his plans with me?”

  “Because you are his son.”

  “Do you think my father would give the enemy easy access to such information?”

  “I think you know more than you say.” Areyn Sehduk considered Lochvaur thoughtfully. The godling showed no sign of fear. “I think you’re holding something back.”

  “How can that be?” Lochvaur replied. “I can’t lie — you’ve said so yourself. You own my very soul — I am the good little soldier who obeys your orders…”

  Areyn’s mace came crashing down. In a split second, Lochvaur had drawn his Sword of Power and parried. They stood for a moment, eyes locked, before Areyn broke the weapons’ contact. “You task me.”

  “You wish the truth? You know I can’t lie under your power.”

  “The truth? What truth?”

  “You shouldn’t have taken me,” Lochvaur remarked, sheathing his sword. “I’m a danger to you, and yet you continue to keep me in chains while I wait and watch patiently for you to falter. Every day I plan for your destruction, but the Wyrd hasn’t shown me the way yet. So, I bide my time and wait. You know I will destroy you, and yet you give me the means of doing so. It would be better if you freed me and sent me back to the Hall of the Gods to await the end of time when you and I will meet. Each day, I learn more and more what you are and hate you for it. Each day, I grow stronger with the knowledge I obtain. It won’t be Rhyn’athel who will destroy you, Areyn. It will be me.” He smiled coldly. “All it will take is one slip…”

  Areyn’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard enough of your prophecies…”

  “You could stop that fate, if you so chose,” Lochvaur said. “But you won’t because of your arrogance and your hatred of me and what the Eleion and Ansgar stand for. We can no more be destroyed than Athel’cen, and for that we are punished. You torment me to soothe your own pride.”

  “I’ve heard enough of your prattle,” Areyn Sehduk growled.

  A slight smile played across the godling’s lips. He turned to Imdyr. “The death god is a poor choice for lovers,” he remarked. “He despises you and all that you stand for.”

  “Silence,” Areyn snapped. “Prepare your warriors — we’ll be attacking Caer Lochvaren within the week.”

  Lochvaur’s smile was mocking. “As you wish, my lord,” he said as he vanished.

  “Caer Lochvaren?” Imdyr repeated after the godling vanished. “It will take months to siege their fortress. It’s winter, too — we won’t be able to launch an effective campaign.”

  “No need,” Areyn said. “I have work for you to do.”

  “Work?” she repeated.

  “Work that will bring the destruction of Caer Lochvaren.”

  CHAPTER Fifty-Six

  Fialan awoke to the dim red sun of Tarentor. The ruddy sky stretched overhead as he lay on cold sand. The wind howled over the desert hills and Fialan knew it would soon be dusk. He groaned as he lifted his head. This time, his body ached all over. He felt a nudge as someone stood over him. Tarentor was so dark compared to Elren that it took time for his eyes to adjust. “Eshe?” he asked.

  “I don’t think Eshe would appreciate that.” Kiril chuckled as he offered Fialan his hand. “She’s much better looking than I am.”

  Fialan laughed and then groaned as the big man helped him up. “My head aches,” Fialan said as he gazed at the bronze warrior. He looked around and saw that other warriors lay across the hills — thousands of them. Many were stirring as Fialan was, blinking in the dim light.

  “Rhyn’athel doesn’t hold back much when he decides to unleash his power,” Kiril remarked.

  “Rhyn’athel? That was Rhyn’athel?”

  “Who else could destroy the entire Braesan with a thought?” the Shara’kai replied.

  “Fialan?” Eshe’s voice came from a few yards away.

  Fialan blinked. “Here — Eshe!” he shouted. His eyes were still unaccustomed to the dark world, but he could see her shapely form as she came towards him.

  She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. “I missed you,” she said. He responded to her kiss, but then Lachlei’s image still burned in his mind.

  Fialan pushed her away. “No, Eshe, this isn’t right,” he said. “Lachlei…”

  Eshe shook her head. “Very well,” she said. She smiled sadly and turned away.

  “Eshe…” he began and gripped her arm.

  “Fialan — I can’t compete with the living,” she said. “As long as we continue to fight in Elren, you may see your wife again. It is torture, Fialan, for as long as she lives, you can never have her.” She freed herself and walked away.

  “Do you want my advice?” Kiril asked as Fialan watched her help other warriors recover.

  “No.” He sighed. “Where’s Lochvaur?”

  “Areyn summoned him,” Kiril replied. “No doubt to make him pay for Rhyn’athel’s attack.” He paused as he watched Fialan gaze on Eshe. “You’ll get my advice anyway, first-blood. I think you’re a fool.”

  Fialan met Kiril’s gaze. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

  The Shara’kai grinned. “No, but I’m good at giving it. She loves you.”

  Fialan shook his head. “Damn it, Kiril, I love Lachlei.”

  “And I loved Samara, but death got in the way.” He
shrugged. “Lochvaur tells me we may die dozens of times before the war ends. You’re no longer of Lachlei’s world anymore than she is of this one.”

  “Wise words, if there ever were,” came Lochvaur’s voice. They turned to see the godling standing beside them.

  “Lochvaur — what happened?” Fialan asked.

  “My father lost his temper,” the godling grinned. “We should have a few days of rest before the demons come back for us.”

  “This is hardly rest,” Fialan remarked, looking at the bleak landscape.

  “It will have to do,” Lochvaur said. “We’ll be sent back to attack Caer Lochvaren by the end of the week.”

  “Is Areyn growing soft?” Kiril said scornfully.

  Lochvaur chuckled. “No, the rest is not for us — it’s for him. Areyn lost quite a bit of power with Rhyn’athel’s attack.”

  “Won’t that mean he’ll use our energy to sustain him?” Eshe asked, shivering.

  “Perhaps,” Lochvaur said. “But I suspect he’d prefer the life force of the living over us. He did receive some energy when we all lost our lives, but it won’t be enough. Areyn will need to feed again.”

  “Then he has been weakened,” Fialan said. “Surely, this is the time for Rhyn’athel to strike.”

  “I wish it were,” said Lochvaur. “But Rhyn’athel’s display had its price. I suspect that flash of anger took much from Rhyn’athel, although he might not admit it. He had to overcome Areyn’s magic — no mean feat.”

  “Should you be saying this?” Fialan asked.

  Lochvaur shrugged. “I’m telling you something Areyn Sehduk already knows. An Athel’cen’s powers are not boundless — there are things beyond their abilities, albeit few. What looked relatively effortless wasn’t. Both Areyn Sehduk and Rhyn’athel suffered for it.”

  Fialan stared at the godling in amazement. He never thought that an Athel’cen might tire or require rest. Yet, Areyn required energy from the dead — did Rhyn’athel use the energy from the living? The thought intrigued him. If gods required nourishment, then perhaps they were not so different from their creations. The Eleion and Ansgar were perhaps closer to the Athel’cen than he thought. “How much did Rhyn’athel lose?”