by M. H. Bonham
Laddel chuckled. “A Laddel blood on the throne of the Lochvaur.”
“Indeed — and a twice first-blood — Lachlei is quite powerful. Areyn doesn’t know this yet.”
Laddel shrugged. “So, why are you here? The Chi’lan are legendary — they will turn the Silren army.”
“Lachlei only has the Chi’lan. The Council wouldn’t grant her the army.”
Laddel shook his head and turned away. “The Truce has been broken, father, and now you are asking me to lead my warriors against the Silren when Rhyn’athel’s own kindred won’t fight for themselves? You ask that the Laddel give up our lives in defense of another kindred?”
“If you do not fight Areyn Sehduk now with the Lochvaur, you will find yourself fighting Areyn alone,” said the wolf-god, his tone low and menacing. “And even I may not be able to help you.”
“The Lochvaur are Rhyn’athel’s kindred. The Truce has been broken. If the Lochvaur are so important, then let Rhyn’athel save them.”
“You would defy me?”
“I would defy folly,” Laddel replied, turning and walking away. “My father, you are a meddler. If it were so serious, Rhyn’athel would join the fray.” He sighed and shook his head as he continued down the wall walk towards the tower.
“He has.”
Laddel halted and turned around once more. “What did you say?”
Ni’yah’s face was grim. “Rhyn’athel has already joined in the fight,” he said. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but you’ve left me with no choice.”
Laddel stared. “Rhyn’athel is here?”
“Yes. He’s leading the Chi’lan against Areyn Sehduk.”
Silence followed as Laddel met the wolf-god’s gaze. “Who knows?”
“No one, save you and I,” Ni’yah replied. “Not even Rhyn’athel’s own Chi’lan know that he is among them. If Areyn were to learn this, it would take the war to the next stage.” He paused. “I know you’re powerful enough to keep that secret from Areyn, but no one else must know.”
“Rhyn’athel has joined the fight,” Laddel mused. “Even with my silence, Areyn will learn soon enough.”
Ni’yah nodded. “Yes, he will.”
“The Laddel will be dragged into this regardless of our wishes.”
“You can meet Areyn on his terms or on yours.” The god shrugged. “The choice is yours.” With that, the god vanished.
Laddel sighed and shook his head. He leaned against the merlon, catching the last rays of the setting sun and gazing into the dark sky.
“Father, was that the wolf-god?”
Laddel turned his gaze to his son, Ladsil. Ladsil was a much younger version of himself with the same wolf eyes and agouti hair. Laddel consider his son thoughtfully. He had been about Ladsil’s age when the war between the gods began. “Yes, it was,” he said.
“What did he say?”
“The Lochvaur need our help. Prepare the army — we’ll be marching from Caer Ladren within the week.”
CHAPTER Twenty-Five
Lachlei looked down into the valley where the Silren army waited. Ten thousand warriors stood ready to fight her and her Chi’lan. Overhead, the sky was dark with approaching storm clouds and a cold wind blew from the east. They broke camp early and marched to the top of the next ridgeline above the valley where the Silren army sat.
Beside her rode Rhyn, his steel gaze studying the Silren lines, his face grim. She tried to discern what Rhyn was sensing, but she could sense nothing save the massive shield that seemed impervious to her power.
“Is the demon there?” she asked tentatively.
Rhyn nodded once and continued to gaze into the valley. “He’s planning on trapping us within the valley and crushing our army with his numbers.”
“That would make sense,” Lachlei said and fell silent, seeing Rhyn lost in thought.
Rhyn gazed at the Silren army. Without the full Lochvaur army, the Lochvaur had no chance against an army five times their size. A ride into that valley would be suicide.
“Is there any way for us to lure him from the valley?”
“Lure?” Rhyn glanced at her and then back to the valley. A slow smile crept across his face. “Lure — that’s it...”
Lachlei gazed at him. “Do you have an idea?”
“Of course. It’s simple, but he’s arrogant enough to fall for it.”
Lachlei gazed at Rhyn curiously. “Who’s arrogant? Do you have an idea?”
“Yes,” he said, grinning. “You gave me the idea — I need five hundred of your troops.”
“Five hundred?” she stared. “That isn’t enough against ten thousand.”
“No, it’s not — but it will be enough to draw him out.”
Lachlei’s eyes glinted as realization dawned in them. “Of course,” she said. “We’ll be ready for them.”
“Then we’ll charge at dusk.”
*****
Areyn gazed at the southern ridges. The Lochvaur were there, waiting. Areyn could wait, too. At some point, the Lochvaur would have to ride down through the pass and engage the army. With the Silren’s overwhelming numbers, it would be a slaughter.
The Lochvaur had other possible choices. One would be to retreat. The other would be to try to circle around, but their way would be blocked. No, the Lochvaur would come to him in good time.
Imdyr sat beside him, clad in her black mail. The Lochvaur were there as she had told him. In fact, everything Imdyr had told him had come to pass. Areyn considered the priestess with some puzzlement. She seemed able to get around the barriers he could not. It was as though she had a goddess’s powers. And yet, Areyn Sehduk could sense that she was mortal and nothing more. He reached out with his senses to see how many of the Lochvaur army was marching against them and abruptly was shoved back.
“How many?” Areyn asked.
Imdyr looked sideways at the death god as if he had taunted her. “There are only two thousand,” she said. “They will attack — there!” She pointed to the cleft in the ravine.
Areyn gazed at the ravine. “That takes no sorcery to figure out,” he said. “Unless the Lochvaur are suicidal, there is no other way.”
Imdyr’s gaze narrowed, but said naught for some time. “There is a god among the Lochvaur,” she said at length.
Areyn started. “A god — are you sure?”
Imdyr closed her eyes as her battle horse stomped impatiently. She opened her eyes and met the death god’s gaze. “I am certain of it.”
Areyn paused. “It must be Ni’yah — I’ve seen the cur skulking around. Little matter — he hasn’t the power to defeat me.”
“What of Rhyn’athel?” Imdyr asked.
“Rhyn’athel?” Areyn spoke sharply. Imdyr smiled mockingly at the fear in his voice. “Rhyn’athel wouldn’t dare; his precious Truce means more to him than a minor encroachment. Ni’yah, however, would become involved.”
“The god I sense is powerful,” Imdyr remarked. “I hope that it is the wolf-god as you think.”
Areyn looked at the mountains, trying to sense the god. How Imdyr was able to break through barriers he could not was indeed puzzling. “It is Ni’yah,” he replied. “Only the wolf-god would be so bold.”
*****
The sun was beginning to sink low in the horizon when Rhyn began to select the warriors for the assault. He rode among the Chi’lan, choosing the best riders he could find. When he had picked his five hundred, Rhyn returned to the front lines where Lachlei and Cahal waited.
“I’ve chosen my warriors,” Rhyn said. “I’ll be taking Cahal, if you can spare him.”
“I can’t,” Lachlei said. “He’ll be with the remainder of the army.”
“You’re coming with us?”
“Yes,” Lachlei said with a sly smile. “Any objections?”
“Yes,” Rhyn said. “Who will lead the army?”
“Cahal will.”
“Cahal?” he said. “And if you fall?”
“I’m Rhyn’athel’s champi
on, am I not?” she asked. “I’m your queen. I should lead the attack.” She crossed her arms. “If Fialan were alive, you’d expect no less from him.”
“We wouldn’t put Fialan under undue risk,” Cahal replied. “They’ll be plenty of fighting here with the rest of the army.”
“I know,” she said. “But I’ll be risking my life regardless of where I am, save perhaps, behind the walls of Caer Lochvaren. I am your champion and your queen. I will lead the charge.” With that, Lachlei rode off.
Rhyn glanced at Cahal, who gave the Chi’lan a helpless shrug. Rhyn followed her.
Lachlei glanced back, irritated. “Rhyn, you don’t need to follow me — I’ve made up my mind.”
“You don’t trust me leading the attack.”
Lachlei met Rhyn’s gaze. His silver eyes betrayed no emotion. “Of course, I do,” she said, a slight hesitation in her voice. “That’s not what’s at issue here.”
“What is at issue?”
Lachlei paused and silence ensued. She turned her horse away, unwilling to have Rhyn see her expression. She knew her face was red from anger and shame. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
Lachlei turned her horse around. Rhyn was still gazing at her with those steady silver eyes, his expression thoughtful, neither disapproving or condescending. “The High Council…” she began and her voice trailed off. Her horse nickered softly and pawed the ground. She shook her head. “Never mind.”
“I am not the High Council,” Rhyn said. “I care little what the High Council thinks of you. Nor do the Chi’lan serve the High Council. The Chi’lan serve the king — or queen of the Lochvaur — and Rhyn’athel.”
“The High Council chose me because they believed they could bend me to their will.”
“Can they?”
Rhyn’s words stung, even if the question was a simple one. Had she given into the High Council’s demands by not challenging Laewynd? What would Fialan have done in this situation? Lachlei felt her fist tighten on her horse’s reins and the stallion tossed its head in displeasure. “They wouldn’t give me warriors.”
“The Chi’lan are your warriors.”
“But the soldiers…”
“A Chi’lan is worth ten soldiers.”
“There are ten thousand Silren and a demon waiting to attack us,” Lachlei said, her face flushing.
“I would say our odds are about even,” Rhyn’athel said wryly.
For a moment, their gazes locked. Rhyn’athel smiled, and Lachlei chuckled. “Rhyn,” she said, shaking her head. “If I only had such faith as you.”
“Lachlei,” he said. “Let me lead the attack. The rest of the army will stand ready with you. There is little chance of me being ransomed; however, you will sorely test Laewynd’s loyalty if you are captured.”
Lachlei laughed. “I can imagine Laewynd’s expression if I were ransomed. He would probably appoint Kellachan or another warrior in my stead.” She paused. “Maybe even you.”
Rhyn chuckled. “I wouldn’t take it.”
“Why not?” Rhyn would be a perfect champion, she thought. He was a powerful first-blood and a natural leader. The Chi’lan respected him too — a respect not easily won.
He paused and became serious. “Because the Lochvaur already have a queen and Rhyn’athel already has a champion.”
Lachlei met his gaze. “Very well, Rhyn, take the charge. I will be waiting for your return.”
Rhyn’athel grinned. “Don’t worry — I’ll be chased by plenty of Silren.”
CHAPTER Twenty-Six
Eshe pulled her helm off and dried her eyes. She wore no mail coif, leaving her neck somewhat exposed. Her wavy red-gold hair was braided in tresses and for the first time, Fialan saw her face fully. She was pretty in a rough sort of way and typically Chi’lan. Her nose had been broken at one time and was set slightly askew, and a scar ran from her right lower ear lobe down her neck where a lucky cut slipped between her helm and gorget. Her silver eyes were almost smoke-gray in the waning light. She was tall and athletically built as many Lochvaur, and Fialan found her attractive, despite his loyalty to Lachlei. He wondered if she had been married in her previous life.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been so alone for so long.”
Fialan shrugged. “That was two thousand years worth of emotion.”
She shivered. “We should continue,” she said, looking into the twilight-deepening sky. “It’ll be dark soon, and we won’t be able to see.” She slipped her helm on.
“Well, if we fall, we won’t die,” Fialan said lightly.
Eshe grimaced. “It’ll still hurt — I once took a tumble off of a ledge farther up.” She stood up slowly and turned to him. “Grasp hold of my cloak,” she said. “And watch your footing.” She began walking upward towards the fortress.
Fialan followed Eshe, watching where she walked. The path was ingeniously cut for those who knew the way. As he had surmised, Eshe knew the trail even in the dark and led him without a misstep.
“Careful. Fialan,” Eshe said, at last. “We’re almost to the top. Only twenty feet to go.”
They had negotiated a path of switchbacks and stairs. Fialan had followed Eshe silently until now. The last twenty feet were straight up the rock face. It was completely dark now, and Fialan could see nothing save Eshe’s form and the cliff before her.
“How do we get up that?” he asked.
“There are handholds and footholds,” she replied. “You’ll have to do everything by feel.”
Fialan stared at the rock face. When he was alive, he would use his mental powers to augment his sense of touch. But now, he had nothing. Nothing except faith in a Chi’lan woman who had died two thousand years before. “All right,” he said, taking a deep breath. The fall from this height would hurt; thankfully, he could only see blackness below.
“I’ll go first,” she said. “Watch me as I climb. The handholds and footholds are evenly spaced, so you shouldn’t have any problems. Wait for me to call to you — that means I’ve made it. Don’t start climbing until then — I could fall and take us both out.” She paused. “If I do fall, go on ahead. I’ll catch up as soon as I’m able to.”
“Very well,” he said. He watched as her fingers ran along the rock face and slid into a handhold. Stepping carefully, Eshe slid her feet into each foothold and slowly searched for the next handhold. Fialan watched her climb, slowly, deliberately, until she vanished into the darkness above her. His sharp ears could still hear the scraping of her boots on the footholds and her labored breath.
He heard her grunt and some scraping above.
“Eshe?” came a voice from somewhere above Fialan. The voice sounded pleased.
“Yes, Kiril, it’s me,” Eshe said.
“What are you doing here?” Kiril asked. “You left us.”
“There’s a new first-blood who insists on speaking with Lochvaur,” said Eshe.
“Demon fodder,” Kiril spat. “They like the first-bloods.”
“His name’s Fialan. He has some news that might change things.”
Fialan frowned. Demon fodder? He searched until he found the handholds and then slipped his feet carefully in the footholds.
“So, he’s a first-blood?” Kiril asked. “From Lochvaur?”
“Yes.” Eshe sighed. “Listen, Kiril. He’s different. He’s like Lochvaur — he thinks the Truce is broken…”
“Eshe,” Kiril laughed. “No one believes Lochvaur any longer — you know that. We stay here because the demons won’t come here.”
“Have you ever thought why they don’t come?” Fialan said as he pulled himself over the final ledge. He could barely see the two speaking. “Don’t you have torches or doesn’t fire work in this world?”
Kiril was a heavy-boned Chi’lan — unusual since most Eleion were medium to light framed. His thicker face and jaw line suggested Laddel blood, but his skin that gave away his true lineage. It was deep bronze — a sure sign Kiril was Shara’kai
— a half-breed of Ansgar and Eleion. Even so, in the dim light, he reminded Fialan of Chi’lan Tamar. “Wood and pitch are a premium here. We don’t waste it.”
“I didn’t know there were any Shara’kai Lochvaur,” he remarked. “Let alone, Chi’lan. Where did you come from?”
Kiril flinched imperceptibly at the word ‘Shara’kai.’ “From the North, near the Tundra Steppes.”
Fialan nodded. “Be careful, Shara’kai, how you sling insults. Or this ‘demon fodder’ will show you what a first-blood can do, even without his powers.”
Kiril lunged and Fialan drew his sword. “Stop it! Both of you!” Eshe snapped, stepping between both men. “You serve only Areyn Sehduk with your quarrel.”
Kiril eyed Fialan mistrustfully. “Indeed,” he said.
“I would have no quarrel with you, Kiril,” Fialan said and turned his gaze on the blade he held in his hand. He hadn’t drawn it since he died, but now he gazed at it in amazement. It looked like Fyren.
“What’s wrong?” Eshe asked as she noticed Fialan’s interest.
“This is Fyren, but it’s not,” Fialan said, studying the blade.
“It’s a ghost weapon,” Eshe said. “Same as your armor and body. Like what you had in life, but not.” Eshe grinned at Kiril. “Thankfully.”
“Why is that?”
“A Jotunn axe separated Eshe’s head from her shoulders,” Kiril said with a grin. “You came here in one piece didn’t you?”
“A ghost weapon — then, it’s not real?” Fialan asked.
“It’s real, all right, but it’s a doppelganger of the real thing. Right down to the metal, but it doesn’t hold the essence of the other blade,” said Kiril.
“The only exception to that are the Swords of Power,” Eshe added. “Those are real.”
“Is that really Fyren?” Kiril asked, looking at the blade inquisitively.
“Look, you can even see the blood where I cut the demon…” Fialan began and stopped, staring at the blood. It glowed blue-black in the dark and dripped down the blade as if he had just used it. “By Rhyn’athel’s sword!” he exclaimed, nearly dropping the blade.
