by M. H. Bonham
Galen hesitated, meeting the death god’s gaze. “I am no coward, Akwel, but I know when we are outmatched. North Marches was one thing; fighting the entire Chi’lan army…”
He never finished his sentence. With a sudden shudder, Galen collapsed dead. His horse spooked and took off. Areyn turned to the others. “We fight or we die.”
*****
Lachlei drew her sword and urged her horse forward. She stared into the mist, trying to discern the power she felt all around. It was dark and sinister — she could feel it as she could feel it on the blade, Fyren. And yet, the power was different. More diffused and less tangible.
Was the demon leaving or was something else happening?
She turned to Rhyn queriously. “What am I sensing?” she asked.
Rhyn made no reply, his eyes glazed over as though in a trance.
“Rhyn?” she said.
Rhyn’s eyes snapped back into focus. “They’re charging,” he said.
“Charging?” Lachlei repeated. “Then, the demon knows we’re almost out of arrows.”
Rhyn nodded.
Lachlei turned to Cahal and Kellachan, who had ridden towards her for orders. “I want both of you to take fifteen hundred of our warriors, retreat uphill and wait for the rest of us.”
“The rest of you?” Kellachan asked.
“Rhyn and I will lead five hundred Chi’lan into the fray and then fall back to our next position. If we can spread out the Silren troops, maybe we have a better chance of killing them.” She paused and scanned the lights within the mist. “If the fog holds up, it will be our advantage.”
“But the fog is not likely to cover the higher ground,” Cahal objected.
“I think it will,” Lachlei replied. She glanced at Rhyn knowingly. Rhyn nodded in acknowledgment. How long will Rhyn be able to keep the fog going? she wondered. Certainly, the demon is trying to counteract his magic.
A cry echoed through the hills — a scream both otherworldly and terrifying. Black fire shot through the Chi’lan ranks, causing even the warhorses to panic. Lachlei reined her mount. “Go! Go! Go!” she shouted to Cahal and Kellachan. “We’ll hold the lines so you can regroup!”
The two Chi’lan commanders turned their steeds and began shouting orders. Rhyn was already gathering the front lines, and Lachlei spurred her horse towards him. The Silren exploded through the fog, and a line of dark flame rolled over the Chi’lan. Lachlei instinctively threw up her hands, feeling the hot flames lick around her. Yet, as soon as she thought they would be burned alive, the fire dissipated. She glanced at Rhyn, whose attention was fixed ahead.
Heartened by the small victory, the Chi’lan archers were notching and firing what few arrows they had left. Those who emptied their quivers mounted their horses and drew their swords, preparing for the onslaught.
The Silren charged, and the Lochvaur Chi’lan met them head on. Two Silren charged Lachlei on horseback, swinging their broadswords. She parried one, but was unable to block both, and the Silren’s sword slashed deep into her horse’s neck. The horse screamed and collapsed. Lachlei leapt off as more Silren charged, wielding their blades. She dodged one as he passed. She turned and cut into the second horsemen’s legs as he bore down on her. Fyren bit deep through bone and flesh and into the horse, itself. Both horse and rider went down and she quickly dispatched them.
Lachlei turned as another Silren warrior tried to run her down, armed now with a mace. Unprepared, she barely brought Fyren up to parry. The force of the blow sent Fyren flying from her grasp and threw her backwards. The Silren turned the battle horse and spurred it towards her, intending to trample her under the hooves. Lachlei leapt to her feet in time to see the warrior swing the mace. She dodged and with first-blood speed grasped the man’s arm as he swung.
She wasn’t heavy enough to pull him from the horse, but she unbalanced him and used his arm to leap behind the warrior. The horse bolted downhill into the Silren lines as they struggled. The Silren warrior flailed, trying to knock her from behind, but Lachlei grasped his head and with a quick snap, broke the man’s neck. She pushed the dead soldier from the horse and reined it to a stop. At that moment, she spied the demon.
He was as Rhyn had described him: a tall Silren wearing black armor astride a black charger with glowing red eyes. Lachlei hesitated. She had lost Fyren in the fight. A hand and a half bastard sword forged of fine adamantine hung from a scabbard on the horse’s saddle, but she doubted it could kill a demon. Still, this might be her only chance to avenge Fialan’s death. Lachlei drew the sword and with a yell, spurred the horse towards Areyn Sehduk.
CHAPTER Thirty
Kiril led them through a stone archway leading into the fortress. It was dark, save for the occasional torch and firepit. Like the fortress itself, the interior was red sandstone, and the sconces cast eerie shadows across the narrow corridors. The acrid smoke from the ironwood and coal wafted through the corridors, stinging their eyes and throats.
Fialan had expected the fortress to be empty, but it was far from it. They passed many Chi’lan warriors, hooded and cloaked as if to hide their identities. Most were huddled in groups beside firepits. Their furtive glances as he passed suggested that they had no desire to reveal themselves, although they were curious over the new warrior who strode through their halls, unafraid to show his face.
Here are the kings and the warriors of Rhyn’athel, Fialan thought angrily. Brought down to huddling around tiny fires. Look what the Truce has brought us.
Kiril led them deeper into the fortress until they came to a wrought-iron door. It was crudely forged, but impressive given the lack of raw materials. The two Chi’lan who stood at the door gazed at Fialan curiously, but said nothing and let the three pass. Fialan could see their eyes gleam in the darkness.
Fialan blinked as he entered the room. The room was well lit compared to the rest of the fortress, with a large firepit in the center that burned red hot with coal and ironwood. The walls, doors, pillars, floors and ceiling were all carved with runes. Fialan recognized them as being from the ancient tongue — the tongue of the gods. Some were used as wards against demons; others were prayers to the gods of light. Rhyn’athel’s rune, the rune of Teiwas, figured prominently throughout. The room was thick with smoke, and the ruddy light cast ethereal shadows throughout it.
Chi’lan warriors stood or sat on either side, many with their cowls drawn, but some were bareheaded like Fialan. They turned to see the newcomers and to stare at Fialan as he strode into the room. But, Fialan’s eyes were fixed on the warrior who sat on the throne at the back.
“Welcome, Fialan,” the warrior said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
*****
Fialan stared at Lochvaur as the son of Rhyn’athel stood to greet him. Here is the warrior’s god’s own son, he thought. For Lochvaur was every bit a godling. He stood proud and tall; his frame muscular and battle-hardened. Fialan saw the resemblance between himself and the godling immediately — their features were similar enough to suggest a blood-tie. And yet Fialan knew the blood of Rhyn’athel ran thin in his veins compared to Lochvaur. Lochvaur’s eyes held power that Fialan couldn’t begin to guess. This was a man who slew demons and Jotunn fearlessly.
In his life, Fialan had heard himself compared to Lochvaur. But, standing before Rhyn’athel’s son, Fialan knew there was no comparison. Lochvaur was power incarnate.
Fialan glanced at Eshe. “I thought you said that Lochvaur has none of his former powers.”
Eshe shook her head. “He doesn’t.”
Fialan steeled his jaw and stepped forward. “My lord,” he said as he strode towards Lochvaur.
“Fialan,” Lochvaur smiled warmly and gripped Fialan’s arms in the traditional Chi’lan greeting. “We don’t stand much on ceremony here with so many warriors and kings around.”
“I would imagine not,” Fialan said wryly. “But how do you know me?”
Lochvaur grinned. “Areyn can’t quite take all my power from me. I can’t
foresee everything, but I can gain glimpses into the Wyrd.”
“You’re still linked with the Wyrd?” Fialan breathed, not daring to believe his ears.
“Oh yes — despite what the naysayers would claim,” said Lochvaur. “I have more power than even Areyn suspects, but he knows I’m dangerous, so he leaves me alone.”
“Why haven’t you challenged him?”
“Because Areyn is a god — and I am not quite. Even Ni’yah can’t defeat Areyn — and he is the most powerful of the gods of light next to Rhyn’athel. Rhyn’athel is the only god who can defeat Areyn.” He paused. “You’ve brought me something. Something I should see?”
“I and my personal guard were attacked along the King’s Highway,” Fialan said. “A single warrior attacked us. I was able to thrust Fyren into his chest, and yet he lived.” He drew the ghost blade. The black blood glowed as he held it up for Lochvaur to see.
Murmurs ran through the hall as Lochvaur gazed silently at the ghost blade. “May I take it?” he asked at last. Fialan nodded and offered the blade. Lochvaur took the sword and a slight smile crept across his face. “Fyren, my old blade,” he murmured. He turned to Fialan with a smile. “Not quite Fyren, but close. It was my first sword as a Chi’lan.”
Fialan nodded. “What of the blood?’
Lochvaur’s grin widened. “I’m sure Areyn didn’t appreciate being bested.”
“Areyn? Areyn Sehduk?” Fialan asked incredulously.
“Oh yes,” Lochvaur laughed. “He would’ve killed you for your impudence, if naught else.”
Eshe and Kiril stared at Fialan. “Are you saying Fialan fought the death god himself?” Eshe asked. A look of wonder filled her face.
“Not just fought,” Lochvaur replied. “He bested Areyn.” He grinned wryly at Fialan. “Not bad for one of my heirs.”
“Then, the Truce…” Fialan began.
“Is over,” Lochvaur replied. “Your death, Fialan, as unfortunate as it is, has brought us freedom.”
“What freedom?” Kiril said. “We are still here in Tarentor, Lochvaur. We are still under Areyn’s control. We still hear the demon screams outside the fortress at night, and they still come for us.”
“Patience, Kiril,” Lochvaur growled.
“Patience! Patience?” Kiril shouted. “We have been patient, Lochvaur. When will you accept Rhyn’athel has abandoned us?”
Lochvaur’s eyes glinted menacingly and held Kiril’s gaze. “Do you believe that, Kiril?”
Kiril said nothing.
“If so, then you are free to leave — to join the rest if you wish. Serve Areyn, if you choose. I will not stop you.”
“How can you be patient after so many years? After so many of us have lost hope?” Eshe spoke.
“Because I have seen more than you,” Lochvaur replied. “And I know what will be.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, my friends, Rhyn’athel already knows that Areyn has violated the Truce.” He handed the ghost blade back to Fialan.
This will be a trying time for you, Fialan heard Lochvaur’s voice in his head. As it will for us all, but especially for you. Remember, you are Chi’lan first and always.
CHAPTER Thirty-One
Rhyn’athel rode, the glowing Sword of Power, Teiwaz, in his hands. Once the Silren charged, Rhyn’athel could only think of the battle and naught else. The mortal body had limits, and he quickly became fatigued. In his god form, he could fight all day without feeling pain or exhaustion. Now, he experienced both.
The first Silren he fought slipped a lucky blow past his guard, and the sword glanced off the warrior god’s adamantine armor on his left arm. Pain shot through Rhyn’athel’s arm as he felt the crushing blow and the snap of a bone. The god bellowed in rage and pain. The Sword of Power flashed as Rhyn’athel brought the blade down on the Silren warrior. The Silren parried, but the warrior’s sword could not withstand the god’s blade. Teiwaz shattered the sword and cleaved deep into the man’s chest. The light faded from the man’s ice-blue eyes, and Rhyn’athel withdrew the Sword of Power.
Rhyn’athel looked around and saw that the battle had moved farther down the hill. The Lochvaur Chi’lan, as few as they were, had stopped the first attack. A first-blood like Lachlei and Fialan could heal themselves as well as others, but it took time and a large amount of power. The warrior god didn’t have the time to keep appearances up. Rhyn’athel paused and let the bones knit and the break heal in his arm.
He looked around for Lachlei, but saw nothing. Bewildered, he scanned the battlefield and a glint caught his eye. He urged the stallion forward until he saw Fyren as it lay in the mud. Glancing around, he quickly dismounted and picked up the sword. Lachlei would not have left Fialan’s sword lying around. Rhyn’athel used the Sight and, to his horror, saw Lachlei behind the Silren lines attacking Areyn.
“Lachlei!” he gasped. He leapt on his horse and spurred it into the battle.
*****
Areyn Sehduk rode forward amid the Silren as they began their advance. The Lochvaur were out of arrows and despite their brave charge, there was not enough of them to hold back the Silren tide. The Silren would destroy the Chi’lan and then march on to Caer Lochvaren.
Yet, even in his gloating, something nagged Areyn. Something had turned aside his magic. Something very powerful — more powerful than an ordinary first-blood. His magic should have incinerated the Chi’lan along the front lines. Instead, the fire had washed over them like a harmless breeze. Could it have been Ni’yah? He searched the area with his senses, but there was no sign of the wolf-god. Still, there was something familiar…
“Demon!” he heard shouting. Areyn Sehduk looked up to see a Lochvaur woman astride a horse, wielding a hand and a half. She spurred the horse towards him, swinging the sword overhead.
Areyn barely had time to parry as Lachlei brought the sword down. He was amazed at her fierceness and strength. Slayer leapt up and ripped into her horse, but the Chi’lan woman was too quick. She leapt off the horse and slashed the adamantine blade into the demon.
Slayer howled in pain and rage. The adamantine blade cut deep into the demon — not enough to fatally wound it, but enough to anger it. It slavered and snapped at Lachlei.
“Demon!” she roared at Areyn. “You killed Fialan!”
Areyn smiled. “So, you’re Fialan’s mate, Lachlei?” He searched his memory, but had none of her. Odd…
“I am Lachlei, daughter of Lochynvaur and Ladara. Chi’lan warrior and Queen of the Lochvaur,” she said, keeping her silver eyes fixed on the demon horse. She could see now that it was not a horse, but a demon with sharp teeth and claws. Black blood oozed from its wound. Before her eyes, the wound closed and the demon was unscathed.
Areyn chuckled. “Well, Queen Lachlei, we shall see how well you can fight demons.”
Suddenly, dark flames exploded around them. A wall of black fire formed a fifty-foot ring around them. Lachlei stared at the flames and then turned back to Areyn. “What is your game, demon?”
The death god laughed. “To watch you die, of course. If you can take care of my little pet, perhaps I’ll consider fighting you.”
Slayer hissed in anger and lunged at her. Lachlei leapt aside, barely escaping the demon’s massive teeth. She wielded the sword only to have it glance off on the creature’s scaly hide. Slayer snarled and lunged at her again. Lachlei parried, only to have the demon catch the sword in its teeth and rip it from her hands. Weaponless, save for a small killing dagger, Lachlei backed up. She pulled the small dagger from her belt and tried to focus on her power.
As the demon approached, Lachlei tried to conjure something — anything — to help her with her fight, but to no avail. Something seemed to prevent her from using her powers. She could hear Areyn’s laughter as she retreated from the demon steed.
This was how Fialan died, she thought as she held her dagger up in defense.
*****
Rhyn’athel watched as a wall of flame shot into the sky. “Areyn,” he whispered as he saw the f
lames course overhead. What was the death god doing? Rhyn’athel dared not use his full powers, but he had to know…
Tamar paused beside Rhyn and stared. “What does it mean?”
Rhyn’athel touched something familiar. “Lachlei!” he said. “Lachlei is facing the demon.”
*****
A thunderclap followed by a brilliant flash of light shook the ground. Rhyn appeared from the smoke and light, riding through the wall of flame and wielding his Sword of Power. He slammed the Sword into the demon horse, severing its neck.
Areyn stared aghast — the warrior had broken through all his defenses. He called up his powers and hurled flames at the Chi’lan warrior. Rhyn brushed them aside and rode towards Lachlei on his gray stallion.
“Are you all right?” he asked, reaching down to offer his hand.
She grinned. “What took you so long?” She grasped his hand and leapt behind him.
Rhyn’athel turned to Areyn. The death god drew his dark blade and strode towards him. Areyn focused his power to destroy the newcomer, only to have his power dissipate on an invisible shield. Areyn Sehduk gazed into those steady silver eyes and saw no fear, only hatred.
“Let’s finish this now,” Rhyn’athel said. His voice held an edge that Areyn recognized. For a moment, the death god felt fear.
Was this Rhyn’athel?
Like many Lochvaur first-bloods, the newcomer bore a resemblance to the warrior god. But, did that mean he was the warrior god? Areyn tried to sense what lay beyond the man who sat on the gray charger. He was abruptly slapped back.
“I grow weary of your games,” the Chi’lan spoke.
Areyn hesitated. It might be Ni’yah. If so, Areyn knew that although he could defeat the wolf-god, it would take much of his energy. He would lose his form and expose himself to Rhyn’athel.
Suddenly, the wall of flames disappeared. They stood now facing each other as the Silren army charged towards them. Rhyn’athel paused for a moment.
