by M. H. Bonham
“Fortification? Is there are need for a fortress here?” Fialan asked, looking around at the bleak landscape.
Eshe laughed; her voice almost musical in that dismal place. Fialan smiled. “By the gods, no!” she said. “If the demons want you, no tiny fortress would keep them at bay.”
“Are there any animals here?”
Eshe shook her head. “No — no need to feed us. These shells Areyn has given us don’t require food or water.”
“Or sleep?”
Eshe shook her head. “Except when Areyn…” She shuddered.
“Why would Lochvaur build a fortress?” Fialan asked, changing the subject back to avoid the topic.
“Most of the dead thought it was foolish,” said Eshe. “But, perhaps it’s a way to show defiance against Areyn. Or maybe it was simply something to take up time. Regardless, it has had an effect of sorts. Areyn won’t come near Lochvaur.”
Fialan laughed. “He won’t? I wonder why?”
“Lochvaur is part Rhyn’athel,” she said. “Areyn won’t touch Lochvaur’s power or he’ll poison himself.”
“I thought you said that first-bloods no longer have their powers.”
“They don’t,” she said. “But a godling is different, and even though Lochvaur has no power here, Areyn fears him.”
The swollen red sun made its way slowly across the sky. Despite the shock of discovering he was dead, Fialan was glad he didn’t need food or rest. He guessed by the sun’s movement that Tarentor’s day was much longer than the Elren’s day. The barren plains became rolling hills and still, they walked. He could see the mountains loom ahead like sharp, jagged teeth.
“There isn’t much to build with around here,” Fialan remarked.
Eshe chuckled. “Just twisted ironwood and rock — and the damn saw grass. I hate the stuff! It’ll cut through everything except armor.”
Fialan laughed with her. “Are all Areyn’s worlds this dismal?”
Eshe grinned. “They say he made this world especially for Rhyn’athel’s warriors,” she said. “He’s not fond of the Chi’lan.”
“But he has other worlds.”
“Oh yes — that’s no lie,” she said. “I hear Jotnar is similar enough to our Elren, but it is colder. And of course, it’s the land of the Jotunn, the frost giants.”
“You were killed by a Jotunn,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “Nasty creatures — I supposed you’ve never seen one.”
Fialan shook his head.
“Well, that’s one good thing that came from the Truce, I suppose. They used to inhabit our world.”
“I hear they were tough to kill,” Fialan said.
Eshe chuckled. “You’re talkative for a dead man,” she said. “This has probably been the most I’ve said since I’ve been here.”
“Why?”
“Well, you’re different. Most when they realize they’re dead are resigned to it. They want to see their parents or dead loved ones or whatever…”
“I’ve made my peace with the dead long ago,” he said. “And if what you say is true, I have a long time to see my dead loved ones. My concern, Eshe, is with the living.”
Eshe paused and considered him thoughtfully. “You are different, Fialan. Perhaps I was hasty to think otherwise.”
*****
The swollen red sun was slipping below the horizon when Eshe led Fialan into a red canyon. The canyon led along the ruddy desert cliffs where a fortress cut from stone sat hewn from the sandstone walls. Fialan stared at the structure in awe. A keep, fortified by a large curtain wall, complete with defensible towers, sat in the high cliffs. It was as large as Caer Lochvaren.
“How long did it take to build that?” he asked.
Eshe shrugged. “When you have all the time in the Nine Worlds, what does it matter?”
“But how did they get the tools?”
Eshe shook her head. “I don’t know, but the sandstone is soft. It wouldn’t survive a siege.”
“Still, wouldn’t it give people hope?”
“I suppose it gives hope to some,” Eshe said slowly. “But most feel it is folly.”
Fialan laughed. “A fool’s fight, eh? Then, no doubt you consider me a fool.”
Eshe shook her head. “I think your quest may be in vain, Fialan, but I don’t consider you a fool.”
As they walked towards the cliff, they saw that stairs had been painstakingly hewn in the red cliff face to provide a way up towards the fortress. The trail crisscrossed the face of the rock, with many switchbacks that allowed a steep but traversable climb. Fialan hesitated as Eshe grasped the handholds that led to the stairs.
“What’s wrong?” Eshe asked, glancing behind.
“There are no guards.”
“Who would you guard against?” Eshe asked. “The demons can come and go as they please, but they don’t enter this place. Those who seek refuge — if you want to call it that — are welcome since they are fellow Eleion. Most who come here are Chi’lan, but there are a few Lochvaur soldiers and some from other kindreds. Mostly first-bloods, like yourself, but there are many of common birth.”
“Were you first-blood?”
“Do I look first-blood?”
“I don’t know — I didn’t know first-bloods had a look about them,” Fialan said.
“They do,” Eshe said. “When you see Lochvaur, you’ll see what I mean.” She started climbing.
“Then you’ve stayed in the fortress for some time,” Fialan said as he climbed behind her.
Eshe stepped onto the stairs and frowned. “Yes, I did.” She climbed the stairs until it leveled out onto a shelf. “Aren’t you ever silent?”
“No,” Fialan said with a grin. “Why did you leave?”
“Why did you die?”
“Who says I’m dead?” Fialan said. “Now, why did you leave?” He stepped onto the stairs and glanced down. The drop was thirty feet. “I guess it’s a good thing I can’t die now.” He looked at Eshe. “Why’d you leave?”
Eshe shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess I lost hope.” She started to walk away as he stepped onto the ledge.
“Wait!” he said.
Eshe glanced behind, her face no longer a mask. “Leave me alone.”
“Why?” He gripped her arm.
He stared as he saw tears streaming down her face. “It’s been so long, Fialan,” she said. Eshe closed her eyes and wept, burying her face in his shoulder.
Fialan held her. “Eshe, Eshe!” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“How long has it been since the Battle of the Nine Worlds?” she asked.
Fialan looked down at her. “Is time the same here as Elren?”
“I don’t know — some say it is, but Lochvaur is not certain about that. How long has it been in the world of the living?”
Fialan sighed. “It’s been two thousand years, Eshe.”
“I have been dead for over two thousand years,” Eshe said, letting the words sink in. “Fialan, how can one hope after so long?”
Fialan looked into Eshe’s eyes. “I don’t know, Eshe, but if Lochvaur still has hope, then I will have hope.”
“If Lochvaur does not?” she asked.
Fialan grinned. “Then, I will still have hope.”
CHAPTER Twenty
“The Silren have attacked North Marches,” Lachlei said, flinging open the doors to the High Council. It was morning when she strode in, dressed as a Chi’lan, her mail ringing with each step. Lachlei noted, much to her anger, that not one of the Council had risen in her presence. Laewynd gazed at her, his silver eyes unperturbed.
“We know, Lachlei,” he said. “Some of us on the Council do have the Sight.”
Lachlei flushed at the rebuke. “Then you know that they put every man, woman, and child to the sword?”
The council members glanced at each other, but said nothing.
“We were discussing what action we should take.”
“Discussing? Discussing!” Lachlei stared at Lae
wynd. “Are you joking? We’ve been attacked.”
“North Marches has been attacked,” Laewynd said. “Not Caer Lochvaren.”
“Lochvaren has been attacked,” Lachlei corrected him. “And North Marches is as much a part of Lochvaren as Caer Lochvaren.”
“The land has been under dispute for some time,” said Moira. “Fialan’s father, Lochalan, negotiated these lands from Silvain.”
Lachlei stared at Moira and then at the others. “The demon who killed Fialan leads their army. We are not safe — he will march to Caer Lochvaren…”
Laewynd raised his hand. “We don’t know that, Lachlei — we can only speculate.”
She stared. “You would stand by idly and do nothing?”
Laewynd shook his head. “I wouldn’t act in such haste.”
“But haste is what we need!” She paused and met his gaze. “I’ll take the army to North Marches.”
The council members glanced at each other. “That may not be wise,” said Laewynd at last.
“Why?”
“Our intelligence indicates that the Elesil may be massing an army to attack us.”
Of course. Lachlei frowned. The Elesil were related to the Silren and held treaties with them. “But the Silren and the Elesil may join together to siege Caer Lochvaren — certainly we should stop the Silren before they get too far south.”
“Not necessarily.”
“I will lead an army to North Marches…”
“No.”
“No?” She stared at them aghast.
“You’re not queen yet, Lachlei,” Laewynd said. “Despite our vote, you won’t be queen until the coronation tonight — assuming there is no challenger.”
“A technicality.”
“A reality,” said Laewynd. “Don’t give us cause to reconsider.”
“You wouldn’t dare. You can’t change your vote once the Council has decided.”
“Can’t I?” Laewynd smiled. “Perhaps I can’t change the vote according to Chi’lan law, but there are other ways to stop you from taking the throne.”
Lachlei met his gaze. She knew those ways. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?” Laewynd leaned back and smiled. “A word to one of the more ambitious Chi’lan might result in a challenger. And the last time I checked, Chi’lan Lachlei, you haven’t seen a battle in three years.”
“You’d challenge after you voted me as queen?”
“Not I,” Laewynd said. “I have no taste for the throne. But there are some who do. Now, forget about North Marches, Lachlei. The Lochvaur have other pressing issues.”
“You would’ve never denied Fialan the army.”
“Fialan would’ve weighed the decision more carefully,” Laewynd replied. “You are new at this.”
Lachlei now understood. The platitudes they had spoken before had been to appease her. They had chosen her precisely because she hadn’t wanted the position, and yet, none would argue with it. The High Council had hoped to take advantage of her. They would’ve never dared with Fialan in power.
“Very well,” Lachlei said. She turned and left before any could reply.
*****
Lachlei entered the bailey and looked around. Rhyn hadn’t been in the great hall when she had woken, nor had he been to the High Council.
Fools! she thought. They didn’t sense what she and Rhyn sensed. Perhaps if Rhyn would speak to the High Council, they would understand the urgency. She looked up and saw Rhyn looking down on her. She climbed the tower stairs that led to the wall walk. As she approached Rhyn, she saw that he was lost in thought.
“Rhyn!” she called.
The North Marches Chi’lan turned to her, a concerned look on his face. “You’ve been to the High Council.”
Lachlei nodded. “They won’t give me the troops to meet the Silren at North Marches.”
“What does that leave you with?”
“My own Chi’lan — two thousand total,” Lachlei said. “It’s not enough.”
Rhyn frowned. “No, it’s not,” he agreed. He knew that the Laddel were Ni’yah’s to command, but how many would remain to be seen. Laddel, Ni’yah’s son, would be obliged to his father, but even Laddel would have his limits. Without the full force of the Lochvaur, the Laddel would not be willing to give their entire army to stop Areyn. It would be too late by the time the Lochvaur entered the fight. “What if the Silren obtain the Elesil’s aid?”
Lachlei shook her head. “The Elesil are traditionally allied with the Silren. If they enter the fray, we’ll be overwhelmed without aid from our allies. But the Laddel are some distance away and the Haell allegiance is tenuous at best.”
Then, let us hope Ni’yah does his work, Rhyn’athel thought darkly. If I have to intervene, this could escalate…
Lachlei studied Rhyn’s face curiously. “What of the Lochvaur surrounding North Marches?”
Rhyn hesitated. “There are maybe a few thousand. Of those, a few hundred warriors.”
“That’s a few hundred we don’t have now.” She fell silent, her face pensive.
“Something is wrong.”
Lachlei shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“No, it’s something,” Rhyn paused. He brushed her thoughts and frowned. “Laewynd threatened your crown?”
“It’s nothing,” Lachlei said.
“No,” he replied, feeling his anger rise. “Laewynd threatened you with a challenger, didn’t he?”
She took a deep breath. “Yes.”
Rhyn frowned. His link with the Web of Wyrd was tenuous in his new form. Even so, he could see that it was changing because of his very presence. “I don’t know what’s exactly ahead,” he said. “But I can promise you none of your Chi’lan will challenge you. Nor will I.”
“That is some comfort, I suppose.” Lachlei’s smile was forced. “What will you do now that you have no home to return to?”
“The land is burnt, the people dead, and there is nothing for me. I must seek the demon that killed them.”
“Then, our paths still cross,” she murmured. “I was hoping that perhaps you would consider joining my Chi’lan,” she said. “We need warriors, Rhyn.” She met his gaze. “I need warriors. You’re first-blood, and that’s a rare commodity nowadays.”
Rhyn stared for a long moment, amazed at his luck. “I would be honored,” he said.
“Then, stand beside me tonight at coronation,” she said. “If I fail, I would have you challenge the victor. I don’t know who Laewynd may put up to challenge me, but he will be nothing more than a puppet.”
Rhyn shook his head. “No, Lachlei, you won’t fail.”
“Laewynd reminded me that I haven’t seen battle in years — against a battle-hardened warrior, I may fall. You are the only Chi’lan I’ve seen who is worthy enough for the throne.”
“I can’t accept.”
She took his hands and once again, Rhyn felt the charge run through him. “Please, Rhyn, I know you’re a first-blood and I know you have a Sword of Power. Cahal told me how you’ve defeated Tamar.”
Rhyn looked into her eyes and felt his resolve slip away. How could a woman weaken the determination of the most powerful god in the Nine Worlds? “I accept, Lachlei,” he heard himself say. “But you will not fail.”
*****
Imdyr rode her black horse towards the Silren encampment. It was late afternoon and the sun was already sinking behind the Lochvaren Mountains. Before her lay the tents and watch fires of the Silren army, nestled deep within the forest surrounding the King’s Highway.
Her horse’s hooves made no noise, and Imdyr traveled like a shadow in the oncoming darkness. Imdyr’s dark hair and black cloak flowed behind her. She was now dressed in dark adamantine mail and a short sword hung at her side.
The Silren guards did not see Imdyr as she rode by, cloaked in her own powers of invisibility. Even with Areyn’s shields, Imdyr could sense the death god nearby; his power seemed to draw her in. Imdyr dismounted and entered Areyn’s
tent.
Incense greeted her as she entered the dark tent. Another odor that she couldn’t place — a sweet musky smell — seemed to permeate her senses. As her eyes became used to the dark, Imdyr saw that the tent was empty. Empty, and yet, not. Imdyr could feel Areyn’s power everywhere — it was as tangible as the incense that wafted through the tent. She took a step forward.
Suddenly, she felt a strong hand grasp her neck from behind and pull her backwards. Another hand clamped around her mouth so she could not scream. Imdyr turned to see ice-blue eyes glitter with a red light in the darkness.
Who are you?
Imdyr smiled inwardly, despite her fear. I have come for you, Areyn Sehduk.
A hesitation. I am Akwel.
Is that what the god of destruction calls himself?
Areyn released her, his eyes glowing menacingly. “What are you?” he growled.
“I am Imdyr, High Priestess of Fala,” she said.
“An Eltar,” Areyn said. He gazed at her, trying to read her mind and found it was shut to him. “A daughter of the winged goddess. Why do you seek a Silren? We consider you a little more than animals.”
“Which is why it surprises me that you took a Silren body,” Imdyr remarked, appraisingly. She approached him and put her arms around his neck. “It is said that Fala was once your lover…” Imdyr kissed him passionately.
Areyn pulled away. “Who sent you?” he demanded. It bothered him that he couldn’t read her mind. “How did you get past the guards?”
“All in due time,” she said, kissing him again. “If you please me, I might grant you what you most desire.”
“There is nothing that you would have that I would want.”
“Really?” Imdyr said, pulling away and feigning surprise. “Then, I suppose I could offer Rhyn’athel the same. Maybe a god of light would be more appreciative of my gifts…”
Areyn curbed his temper as his curiosity took hold. “What gifts?”
“The Nine Worlds, of course.”
Areyn licked his lips; hunger glittering in his eyes. “Perhaps I was being hasty,” he said. “I will listen.”
