Lachlei

by M. H. Bonham

  Wynne’s brass eyes reflected the flames as she looked up at the queen. Wynne was from the Laddel kindred, the clan of Lachlei’s mother. Wynne had come with Ladara many years before when the Laddel princess agreed to become the consort of a Lochvaur prince. Even after Ladara’s death in battle, Wynne had chosen to stay with Lachlei. Now, she cared for Lachlei’s son and she had cared for Lachlei.

  “Wynne…” Lachlei began.

  Wynne put a finger to her lips. “He just fell asleep,” she said, beaming at the infant. She stood up slowly and walked over to Lachlei, who beamed at her son. The baby held a braided tress from Wynne’s wolf-gray hair. Lachlei gently removed the lock and gazed into the child’s face.

  “He looks like his father,” Lachlei remarked, taking Haellsil from Wynne’s arms. The baby yawned and nestled deeper into the warmth of the blanket.

  “That he does,” Wynne replied.

  Lachlei closed her eyes and turned away. “He’ll never know his father.”

  Wynne shook her head. “You knew the risk, being Chi’lan,” she replied. “Ladara did when she chose your father.”

  “A lecture, Wynne?”

  “A reality, Lachlei. Those born to the warrior god’s kindred are short lived because of the life they choose.”

  “The Laddel are no better.”

  “No, we’re not, and that makes you doubly cursed, perhaps,” she said. “I worry that Haellsil may not know his mother, either.”

  “That is a risk,” Lachlei replied. She walked over to the baby’s crib and gently laid him down. She was greeted with a soft whine and a tail thump from Strang, Fialan’s warhound. She knelt down and ran her hands through the warhound’s coarse red fur. “Strang,” she whispered as the big war dog licked her. “Do you miss your master?” The dog looked up at her with soulful eyes. “I do, too,” she admitted.

  “I heard about the fight between you and Kieran.” Wynne leaned in the doorway.

  Lachlei shrugged. “He challenged my right.”

  “I thought you didn’t want the throne.”

  Lachlei shook her head but said nothing.

  “It’s that new Chi’lan, isn’t it?”

  “What makes you say that?” Lachlei said a little too sharply.

  “I know you better than you think,” Wynne said. “He’s a handsome one.”

  Lachlei stared at Wynne. “I can’t believe you,” she whispered. “Fialan is barely dead…”

  “And you are alone,” Wynne remarked.

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “No one is denying that, Chi’lan Lachlei,” Wynne replied. “But you are taking on more than anyone expects you to. What is his name? Rhyn, is it?”

  “Wynne…”

  The Laddel woman met Lachlei’s gaze. “What happened?”

  Lachlei bared her right arm. “Wynne — I’ve been chosen.”

  Wynne stared at the dragon mark. “By the wolf’s fur,” she whispered. “Rhyn’athel has chosen you?”

  Lachlei nodded. “I’m now his champion.”

  Wynne hugged her gently. “May the warrior god protect you,” she said with a smile. “Then, I believe that Rhyn was sent.”

  “Sent?” Lachlei asked, looking at the nurse in puzzlement.

  “A Guardian, perhaps, or a spirit guide,” Wynne said.

  Lachlei laughed. “He seems Eleion enough to me.”

  “Perhaps.” She smiled. “If you won’t be needing me?”

  Lachlei nodded. “Good night, Wynne.”

  Wynne nodded and left Lachlei’s private chambers. Lachlei walked to the door and for a moment thought about opening the door to see if Rhyn was still awake. Instead, she locked the door and walked to her bedroom; Strang following her faithfully. She lay down, letting the warhound lay beside her and ran her fingers through its coarse hair. As she fell asleep, her last thoughts were of Rhyn.

  CHAPTER Twenty-Three

  Lachlei strode towards the hall of the Lochvaur High Council. As queen and Rhyn’athel’s champion, none could dispute she had the right to demand the army. The night before burned in her mind just as the mark of the warrior god burned in her skin. All who saw her now met her gaze in deference. She was Rhyn’athel’s champion.

  Movement beside her stirred her from her thoughts. Lachlei turned to see Rhyn walking silently next to her. She smiled, despite herself. The North Marches Chi’lan shadowed her almost as much as Cahal did now. She welcomed his presence.

  “Rhyn,” she chided lightly. “I was unaware I was in need of a bodyguard.”

  “The queen shouldn’t go anywhere without one of the Chi’lan,” Rhyn replied.

  Lachlei scowled. “Cahal sent you.”

  “And if he did, would you send me away?”

  She smiled coyly. “Perhaps I should.”

  “I don’t think Cahal would like that.”

  Now, Lachlei scowled. “Go back to Cahal and tell him that I don’t need protection.” She turned and walked away. Rhyn followed, much to her irritation. She turned and glowered at him, seeing a slight smile on his lips. “Are you going to ignore a direct order?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I should…” She fell silent, trying to think of something.

  Rhyn’s smile grew wider. “You’ll what? Fight me?”

  Lachlei laughed. “Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Fight you.”

  “You’d lose.”

  Lachlei sobered and eyed him. “I would, would I?”

  She considered him for the first time as a potential opponent. He was tall and muscular, but not so tall that his height would be a handicap in a fight. She had seen no apparent weakness in his stride or either side. Cahal told her that he handled a sword in both hands with ease. At another time, before Fialan, Lachlei would have found him desirable. “How did you best Tamar?”

  Rhyn shrugged. “Tamar was drunk and sloppy — I was not.”

  She paused as her gaze fell on the Sword of Power that hung at his side. “I never properly thanked you for your help through this,” she said, drawing closer to him. “You have been invaluable to me, Rhyn. If there is anything…”

  A flicker of emotion glinted in the Chi’lan’s eyes, but it flitted so quickly that she was unable to read it. He smiled. “It is my privilege to serve Rhyn’athel’s champion,” he said.

  Lachlei could feel her pulse quicken as they stood facing each other. She glanced down at the Sword of Power. The rune of Teiwas — the rune of Rhyn’athel — carved into the hilt, caught her attention. “So, tell me how you came by a Sword of Power.”

  Rhyn stiffened slightly as if snapped from reverie. “My father gave it to me.”

  Lachlei smiled at his discomfort. She drew closer so that they were barely inches apart. “Is that so? Swords of Power disintegrate when the forger dies.”

  “Not all,” Rhyn assured her. “Although their preservation requires special circumstances…”

  “Such as?” Their gazes locked.

  Rhyn leaned forward; his lips drew closer to hers. “Such as changes in the Web of Wyrd as those by Athel’cen…”

  “Lachlei?”

  Lachlei broke from him and turned to Kellachan. “What is it, Kel?”

  Kellachan glanced at Rhyn and then looked at her. “Was I interrupting?”

  Lachlei glanced at Rhyn who met her gaze steadily. “No,” she said. “I was going to speak to the Council.”

  “Good,” Kellachan said. “Laewynd is here. He’s expecting you.” Kellachan led her up the stairs to the Council’s hall.

  Laewynd will not listen to your demands, Rhyn said to her in mindspeak. Take the army, Lachlei, no one will dispute you’re Rhyn’athel’s champion.

  Lachlei made no acknowledgment. Instead, she walked in, flanked by both Chi’lan.

  The Council room was dark, despite it being daylight. The tallow candles within cast a smoky light on the Council members; the air was acrid and stale as Lachlei took a breath. Dark and musty, she wanted to throw open the doors and the windows an
d expose the room to the bright sunshine outside. She glanced from face-to-face: Moira, Kieran, Elrys, Tarchon, Talar. All stood as they met her gaze. Only Laewynd sat in his Council seat.

  “You will rise,” Lachlei said evenly. She did not have to glance behind her to know that Rhyn and Kellachan had their hands on their hilts. “And give me the respect due.”

  Laewynd stood, his face pale as he met her gaze. “Respect is earned, Lachlei.”

  “Still at odds with me, Laewynd?” She smiled at Kieran. “Thought I would play the Council’s fool?” Kieran smiled back.

  “No,” said Laewynd, “but I would’ve expected more sense from you.”

  “I need the army, and I need it now,” Lachlei said. “The Silren will cross the Lochvaren Mountains and will march on Caer Lochvaren if we do not stop them. I demand the Lochvaur army.”

  “Such as it is?” Moira said.

  Lachlei turned to the Council member. “What do you mean?”

  “It will take a month to bring all forty thousand to Caer Lochvaren,” she said.

  “Even ten thousand…” Lachlei began.

  “We can’t spare,” Tarchon said. “Haven’t you heard? The Redel kindred to the west are showing signs of restlessness. We can’t risk leaving Caer Lochvaren exposed.”

  Lachlei glanced at Kellachan and Rhyn, who stood beside her. What has happened, Kel?

  The Council has already taken a vote, her cousin replied. Despite your popularity, only Kieran and I voted in your favor.

  “You see, Lachlei, you can’t force your agenda on the Council,” Laewynd smiled smugly. “Even if we would give you the army, we couldn’t.”

  Lachlei glanced at Rhyn. Your recommendations?

  Gather who you can, Rhyn replied. Go around the Council.

  “Very well,” Lachlei said. She met Laewynd’s gaze. “I know where your loyalties lie. I will take my own Chi’lan to meet the Silren.” She turned and left, followed by Rhyn and Kellachan. “Damn them!” she snarled after the doors shut.

  “You could take the army, yourself,” Rhyn said. “You have that right.”

  Kellachan shook his head. “If she does, she’ll alienate the nobles. For whatever we think of the Council, the people chose them to lead.”

  “No one, save the Council members, chose Laewynd as Council leader,” Lachlei said.

  “Kieran and I don’t make a majority, even without Laewynd,” her cousin said. “As much as you are Rhyn’athel’s champion, and as much as you’re popular among the people, you won’t be able to take the army.”

  Lachlei turned to Rhyn. “What do you think?”

  “I think that you’re Rhyn’athel’s champion,” he said. “One Chi’lan is worth ten soldiers.”

  Lachlei met his gaze and smiled. His faith in her strengthened her resolve. She nodded. “Find Cahal and prepare the Chi’lan. We leave tomorrow for North Marches.”

  CHAPTER Twenty-Four

  The autumn air of the Lochvaren Mountains held a bite, Lachlei decided. She sat on her warhorse, looking back at the Chi’lan warriors who rode behind her. She pulled her cloak more closely around her. Two thousand of her personal guard followed her to fight against the demon who sought to destroy her people. Two thousand Chi’lan out of forty-five thousand total warriors. She wished the Council had granted her part of the army.

  It had been a fortnight since they left Caer Lochvaren and headed northward along the King’s Highway. Snow was already falling in the higher passes, and the trees were flocked with the last night’s snow. Lachlei stared ahead. More forest lay before them with a steep climb as they headed towards one of the smaller passes. It was rocky, and the snow blanketed the ground. She patted her warhorse’s neck as steam issued from its nostrils. She glanced behind again. Despite the cold, the army was in good spirits and the warriors were well equipped.

  “I think we should make camp once we cross the pass,” Rhyn said. “We’ll have to camp in the lower forest — it’ll provide some protection against the wind at night.” Rhyn rode beside her and Cahal. It seemed natural for the North Marches Chi’lan to ride next to her. He proved to be invaluable as they rode northward, demonstrating his knowledge of the land and obstacles ahead.

  Lachlei gazed at the road as it wound its way through the trees. She could just see the pass beyond a small break ahead. “What about avalanches?”

  Rhyn shook his head. “Too early in the season just yet, but we’re going to have to be careful. In a few weeks, the snow may block our route back along the King’s Highway.”

  “Alternatives?”

  Rhyn frowned. “We could go around onto the northern edge of Darkling Plain, but that will lead us through Elesil and Eltar territory. It’ll probably be our only option once the snow becomes deep.”

  “Damn inconvenient time to start a war,” Lachlei remarked. “Who fights with winter coming on?”

  “The Silren, evidently,” Cahal remarked dryly.

  They rode forward, leading the Chi’lan across the first pass. The snow was a little more than a half foot deep, easy enough for their horses to plow through. Once on top of the pass, Lachlei gazed eastward across the mountains and could barely see the brown and gold plains beyond. How many miles would it be out of their way if they had to take that route? A hundred or more, certainly.

  They continued farther down the mountain until they found a relatively flat area where the army could camp. Weary from exertion, the Chi’lan made camp and prepared for the night.

  Lachlei entered her own tent and found a small woodstove with a flue had been set up. The air was warm inside, making her drowsy and she stripped off her cloak, layers of furs, and mail down to her tunic and breeches. A small kettle of water was already boiling on the hot stove and she poured herself a cup.

  “May I enter?” she heard Rhyn’s voice from outside the door.

  “Please, come in,” Lachlei said. She poured him a cup of hot water and offered it to him. “I’m sorry it’s not spiced wine.”

  “I’m not,” Rhyn replied, gratefully accepting the cup and drinking. “We need our wits about us. Our scouts just came back — the Silren are camped in the next valley.”

  “Are you sure?” Lachlei said, lowering her cup and staring. “My Sight has shown nothing.”

  “Something is blocking our ability to see exactly where they are,” Rhyn replied. “But, the shield goes both ways; we’ve been able to keep our own army’s precise location hidden from them.”

  “Until now,” Lachlei remarked. She shook her head. “They’re bound to have scouts.”

  “No doubt,” the Chi’lan said. “They’ll wait for us, though. The Silren will prefer to fight rested.”

  “Can we wait for them?”

  Rhyn shook his head. “Inadvisable. We’re heavily outnumbered, and we’ll give up our advantage if we fail to take the higher ground.”

  “Your recommendations?” Lachlei asked.

  “Rest tonight,” Rhyn said. “We have a day’s march between us, so it is unlikely that the Silren will try anything tonight, but we’ll post a watch just in case. We can awaken before dawn and bring our army to the ridgeline along the pass. At that point, we’ll prepare and bivouac there. Then, we’ll attack at dusk.”

  Lachlei nodded. “Are there really ten thousand of them?”

  He gulped the rest of the water. “That’s what the scouts are reporting.” He paused. “The lay of the land will dictate the battle.” He smiled at her. “We both need rest. Don’t worry just yet, Lachlei. Something will present itself.”

  Lachlei watched as he left. “I hope you’re right, Rhyn.”

  *****

  Laddel stood along the parapets of Caer Ladren and gazed into the crimson sunset. He was a shorter Eleion with an agouti mane and brass eyes like his father, Ni’yah, the wolf-god. He was ancient by Eleion standards, having lived through the war between the gods nearly two thousand years before. The last war was still vividly etched in his mind.

  The Laddel fortress-city towe
red over the forest that stretched for miles in all directions. Hewn from the native red sandstone, the city was a beacon of the Laddel might. The towers curved upward, carved with symbols of the forest and the wolf. The main keep sat in the center of the towers, the green and silver banners hung from the walls. Along the parapets, silver-haired Laddel warriors kept watch, their green and silver cloaks flashed in the sunlight. They had grown from a small kindred to a powerful nation within the two thousand years. None dared challenge the Laddel.

  And yet, Laddel stood alone with his dark thoughts. Twice he had felt the tremor that ran through the world’s core. The first time, that tremor bought terrible destruction on the Eleion. Laddel had been young then — not much more than boy — when the war of the gods began. Those were the days when the gods of light walked among the Eleion. Before the Eternal Fire and before the Truce.

  Before Areyn Sehduk’s vengeance.

  “Of all the living first-bloods, you alone recognize Areyn’s stench in this world,” came a voice from behind him.

  “It isn’t hard,” Laddel replied and turned to Ni’yah. “I’ve had plenty of past experience.” He paused and smiled. “I was wondering when you might return to Caer Ladren, Father.”

  Ni’yah nodded. The wolf-god leaned against a merlon. “I wish I came with happier news.”

  “Areyn Sehduk has returned?”

  “Indeed.”

  “What of the Truce?”

  “Areyn has taken the form of a Silren,” Ni’yah replied. “He thought to dupe Rhyn’athel and me by his disguise. Even now, he is marching on the Lochvaur.”

  “The Lochvaur.” Laddel gazed into the setting sun. “We had heard of Fialan’s demise. It was no accident.”

  “Indeed,” Ni’yah said. “Lachlei, Fialan’s consort, is leading the Chi’lan against the Silren.”

  “Lachlei — Ladara’s daughter?”

  “The same,” said Ni’yah, a glint in his eyes. “Lachlei is your great-granddaughter.”