Lachlei Page 7

  “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.

  CHAPTER Eighteen

  Imdyr lay naked against the cold, stone altar of Fala and closed her eyes. For nearly a month, Imdyr had lain against the winged goddess’s altar, searching for some sign. Imdyr had been the goddess’s high priestess for five years; Fala had chosen her when she was twelve after the old priestess had died.

  Long raven-black hair framed an angular face. Her eyes were obsidian black, contrasting sharply with sallow skin. Her thin body showed her ribs below her small, firm breasts, and her hip bones protruded. She was like all those born of the Eltar kindred, tall, lithe, and fair skinned. She had been beautiful at one time, but the darkness in the temple had made her pale and emaciated. Even so, the power still remained.

  Imdyr was first-blood. She came from the line of Fala when the goddess had walked among mortals before the wars between the gods. The Eltar and the Falarel had been her kindreds, and yet, they could not gain any greatness over the others.

  Where was the promise of Fala? Imdyr demanded. To her demands came no reply.

  Imdyr had waited — in vain. Fala no longer held power in the Fifth World. She was a dark goddess who hated both the gods of light and gods of darkness, favoring her own magic. For this, Fala was an outcast — eschewed by both sides. Her kindreds weak and forgotten.

  A surge of power ran through her, and Imdyr sat up. Reaching out with her Sight, she saw a dark figure on a horse — but it was no horse. Within her mind’s eye, Imdyr saw the slaughter unfold. Entranced, she felt horrified at first, but she could not tear herself away from the vision. The dark rider came forward, wielding his blade.

  She saw a village in her vision and watched as it burst into flames. Pale warriors — Silren, by their looks — attacked with a blood-frenzy. Some of their victims ran, but a few stood and fought. The warriors had red-gold manes — Lochvaur. But, there were too many Silren and the Lochvaur were soon overwhelmed.

  Imdyr found herself standing on the battlefield, the cold wind whipping across her body. She shivered, but not because she was cold. The carnage excited her — she could taste the blood in her mouth. Then the dark warrior rode towards her. Imdyr could see his face clearly as he turned his demon-mount aside. He was a Silren with ice-blue eyes. Silren, and yet, not Silren.

  Imdyr smiled. She looked into his pale eyes. “I know who you are,” she whispered. “Areyn Sehduk.”

  *****

  “It was Areyn,” Ni’yah said, his brass eyes hard. “He mocks me and he mocks you.” He stood on the parapets of Caer Lochvaren next to Rhyn’athel as the warrior god gazed over the forests in the dawn’s light. The warming sun’s rays brought little comfort to either of them. To the casual observer, they looked like two Eleion soldiers conversing — not two of the most powerful gods in the Nine Worlds.

  “I know,” Rhyn’athel said, his voice heavy. “I should’ve seen it — in fact, I felt Areyn’s shield earlier before the attack, only I was too preoccupied. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “What indeed? The Truce is in shambles.”

  “No thanks to Areyn.”

  “And no thanks to you — or me,” Rhyn’athel said. “We’ve all violated it, despite our intentions.”

  “Areyn has slaughtered an entire village, and you’re worried about your violation?”

  Rhyn’athel shook his head grimly. “I had hoped to avoid this war, and yet, it seems inevitable. Total, utter destruction — as it was in the last war.”

  “But we won.”

  Rhyn’athel chuckled ruefully. “Did we? Yes, I suppose in a way, you could call it a victory. But what did we accomplish?”

  “The Jotunn and demons no longer walk this world or any of our worlds,” Ni’yah replied. “The Eleion live here instead of Areyn’s spawn.”

  “But as long as Areyn Sehduk exists, there will be no peace,” Rhyn’athel replied. “And he is an Athel’cen, a god from the Wyrd — as you and I are. We can’t be destroyed. You know as well as I do that the Truce was the only way to preserve what little we’ve created. And now, that’s gone.”

  Silence ensued.

  “He has a demon with him,” Ni’yah ventured.

  Rhyn’athel smiled grimly. “That news does not surprise me.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the parapet. “Areyn is a coward — he will not confront me directly because he knows he will lose. So, he takes the guise of a warrior to destroy my kindred and my power in this world, hoping to catch me unawares.”

  “But now he’s gotten bold,” Ni’yah remarked. “Bold enough to taunt me.”

  “Arrogance,” Rhyn’athel replied. “The blood-feeding does that to him. Areyn will regret it in a few days when his power levels out.”

  “What do we do?”

  Rhyn’athel made no response. Instead, he gazed below into the bailey. Ni’yah followed his gaze until it rested on Lachlei who had entered the inner courtyards. Ni’yah grinned. “She is very beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “Damn you for bringing me here,” Rhyn’athel said. “You knew all the time she would be my weakness.”

  Ni’yah shrugged. “I knew you wouldn’t let her die — especially now that the Wyrd is weaving a different pattern.”

  Rhyn’athel took a deep breath, his eyes becoming glassy as he concentrated his powers on the Sight. It was harder to do, now that he had a mortal body, but not impossible. The silver threads of the future shimmered in his vision, and he stared as he saw the path they would take. His eyes snapped back into focus. “I’ve changed the Wyrd with my presence.”

  “Can’t be helped,” Ni’yah said dismissively. “Whenever any of the gods of the Wyrd enter this world, it forever changes the Wyrd’s pattern.”

  “You knew this and yet you continue to meddle,” Rhyn’athel accused.

  Ni’yah shrugged. “I hate knowing everything that happens — it makes for a very boring life as a god. Besides, it’s not just me, now — it’s you and Areyn. You have the strongest link to the Wyrd, which is why it is so interesting to see it change around Lachlei…”

  “Lachlei,” Rh
yn’athel repeated distractedly. There were two paths now — both would shift the balance of power. Both hinged on Lachlei.

  “You know that not everything is set and the Wyrd doesn’t reveal the full future. But Lachlei will…”

  Rhyn’athel’s face became stern. “Speak of this to no one.”

  “Areyn may learn of this,” Ni’yah said. “Areyn will seek Lachlei out, himself.”

  Rhyn’athel could feel his face flush with rage, but he held it back. “Not while I am still the warrior god.”

  Ni’yah nodded. “So, what will you do?”

  “Lachlei wants me to teach her how to kill a demon.”

  “She knows?” Ni’yah gazed at his brother. “Did you…?”

  The warrior god shook his head. “Lachlei sensed Areyn, herself. The slaughter woke her.”

  “I only thought godlings like Lochvaur and Laddel could recognize demons.”

  “Lachlei can.” Rhyn’athel’s gaze drifted back to her. “The Silren are under Areyn’s power. If the Lochvaur fall, so will the other kindreds.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Stop Areyn here and now,” Rhyn’athel said. “Lachlei will be my champion.”

  Ni’yah grinned. “I knew you wouldn’t stand by idly.”

  Rhyn’athel nodded. “As much as I hate to admit it, you were right.” He paused. “We will need more than the Lochvaur, though. Your son, Laddel is still alive?”

  “He is,” Ni’yah said. “And the Laddel are a strong kindred — one of the few who use longbows. I will speak with Laddel, if you wish.”

  Rhyn’athel nodded. “Do that. And speak to Elisila about her Silren…”

  Ni’yah smirked. “You wouldn’t wish to talk with her yourself?”

  The warrior god glared.

  Ni’yah chuckled. “I thought not,” he said and vanished.

  CHAPTER Nineteen

  Eshe led Fialan towards the cliffs. She had agreed to take him to Lochvaur and for the first time, seemed actually cheered by his presence. “Lochvaur has a fortification within the cliffs, themselves,” she said as they walked.