Lachlei

by M. H. Bonham

  And yet, it was still Elren, the land of the living. The forest stretched for miles in all directions until it met the base of Lochvaren Mountains, the conifers frocked with glistening snow. The snow-capped peaks gleamed pure white in the contrasting sapphire-blue sky. Sowelu shone overhead, providing warmth where there had been none before. Fialan breathed deeply the cold, clean air and reveled in the feeling. It was as if he were alive again.

  Eshe had wept on seeing the world of the living once more. The beauty of Elren had left her speechless, but the travel had drained her as it had many of the other Braesan — the Undead. While she rested, Fialan walked through the army, past the tents and warriors — and the demons that were constant reminders of the dead Chi’lan’s slavery to Areyn.

  One hundred thousand Chi’lan warriors had been brought back from the dead. They were Braesan, undead Eleion. Neither alive nor dead, their bodies were pale and their eyes held a reddish cast. The best and the greatest of the warriors to feed Areyn’s war machine. Lochvaur had chosen exclusively Chi’lan, but whether this was by chance or intention, Fialan didn’t know. Fialan found Lochvaur’s tent and strode in, his eyes hardening as he met the godling’s.

  “So, you’ve betrayed us,” Fialan said.

  Lochvaur looked up. “You of all should not talk, Fialan. You left us.”

  “And so I’m dragged here?”

  “The demons would’ve come for you, regardless. You’re part of this war, Fialan — I can see your fate in the Wyrd.”

  “Spare me your platitudes,” Fialan snarled. “I won’t be party to any of this…”

  “I see how you instill loyalty, Lochvaur,” came Areyn’s mocking voice from behind them. “Perhaps I could learn something…”

  Fialan wheeled on the demon god. “You…you! If you touch Lachlei, I’ll…”

  Areyn smiled sardonically. “You’ll what? Kill me? Rather unlikely, don’t you think, Fialan? After all, if Rhyn’athel or his son can’t kill me, certainly you can’t.”

  “Be careful how you sling insults, Areyn,” Lochvaur said. “Especially to the man who bested you in a swordfight.”

  The death god’s eyes narrowed. “A small accomplishment — he is still dead.”

  “Small, perhaps, but notable,” Lochvaur said. “Why are you here? You have what you want.”

  “My Silren and Eltar will be here soon,” Areyn said. “You are to take orders from my captains.”

  Lochvaur said nothing, but anger smoldered in his steel eyes.

  Fialan stared. “You’re going to obey?”

  “Of course,” Areyn Sehduk said. “He’s going to be the good soldier who follows orders, aren’t you, Lochvaur?”

  A muscle twitched in Lochvaur’s jaw, but the godling merely gazed at Areyn.

  With a yell, Fialan leapt at Areyn, swinging his sword. Flame surrounded the former Lochvaur king, and Fialan dropped to the floor, writhing. “Enough, Areyn!” Lochvaur snapped. “Leave him — your quarrel is with me.”

  “Indeed,” Areyn said. The flames disappeared, and Areyn met the godling’s gaze. “Remember, Lochvaur, who is your master,” he said as he strode out.

  Lochvaur glared after Areyn and then knelt beside Fialan’s motionless body. He touched Fialan’s forehead. “Fialan,” he said. “Fialan, awake!”

  Fialan started awake and stared at Lochvaur. Anger shone in his eyes, but Lochvaur shook his head. “Let us not quarrel, Fialan. For I am not your enemy, but your ally.”

  “My ally? You, who have doomed me to fight for Areyn?”

  “Areyn would have you fight regardless.” Lochvaur helped Fialan up. “Patience, Fialan. I know it is hard to trust me, but trust me, you must. No one — not even Rhyn’athel — holds my vengeance against the death god. Two thousand years or ten thousand years — I am a patient man, and I will have my revenge.”

  Fialan gazed into Lochvaur’s eyes and shuddered. He could see the anger and hatred for the death god within Lochvaur’s gaze. “You would’ve taken Areyn’s anger though it was directed at me.”

  Lochvaur shrugged. “I have felt the death god’s punishments before.”

  Fialan looked down. “There must be a way out of this — now that we are back in the world of the living.”

  “But our bodies are not part of this world,” Lochvaur said. “We are tied to Tarentor as surely as if there were a chain around us.”

  “What if we tried to escape?” he asked.

  “Don’t,” Lochvaur said. “If you did try, you are likely to feel terrible pain — worse than the jolt Areyn gave you.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  “We obey orders and we wait — for the moment,” Lochvaur said.

  “That is not my nature,” Fialan said. “I won’t fight my own people.”

  “That remains to be seen, my young friend,” the godling replied as Fialan left the tent.

  *****

  The demon was huge — a massive, dark creature that loomed over them. In the light of the third moon, it looked more imposing yet. It hovered above the encampment, dark and ominous. To Lachlei it looked like an amalgam of different creatures fused together haphazardly. Its head was that of a wolf; its body of a fireworm. Its bat-like wings beat furiously as it displayed its fierce, saber teeth.

  Rhyn had been the first outside, his Sword of Power drawn. Lachlei stood beside him with Fyren, followed by Telek and Laddel. The Laddel warriors gathered around with spears and swords, torches lit. Some drew their longbows and nocked their arrows, awaiting Laddel’s orders. Lachlei could see the hatred burn in their feral eyes as they looked upon one of the ancient enemies of the Eleion.

  The demon screamed again, prickling Lachlei’s skin and hair. Everything within her nature told her to hate it. She had never had such a visceral experience, except in the heat of the battle against Areyn. Perhaps it was the blood of the Athel’cen that coursed through her veins. She looked at Rhyn, whose expression was darker yet.

  “Heath-stalker,” Rhyn said. “Stay here.” He glanced at Telek, who nodded and drew his sword. Lachlei stared. The Laddel warrior’s sword glowed in the darkness; he carried a Sword of Power as well. They walked forward, Rhyn circling left and Telek circling right.

  Lachlei started forward after them, only to feel Laddel’s firm grip on her shoulder. “Don’t — they’ve killed many demons before,” he said.

  Many? Lachlei turned back to Rhyn and Telek in wonder. How could Rhyn have killed many? And what of Telek?

  The demon screeched, seeing both gods circling it. Rhyn’s eyes burned with a bloodlust that Lachlei had only seen palely reflected in the Chi’lan. It was as though she had been transported back over two thousand years before. Was this how the battles between the Eleion and Areyn’s creatures were before the Truce? Rhyn and Telek seemed to have stepped out of those times.

  The demon struck at Rhyn. Rhyn parried and Telek charged, his brass eyes flashing in the cold moonlight. The demon twisted to meet the attack, only to have its talons severed as it sought to rake Telek. Rhyn swung his Sword, and the blade bit through the demon’s armored scales. The Sword of Power cut through its neck, and the demon collapsed in a vile-smelling heap.

  Rhyn’athel grinned as he met his brother’s gaze. “It has been a long time,” he said to Ni’yah. “I forgot how much I hate these things.”

  “Stupid heath-stalkers,” Ni’yah remarked. “Areyn may not realize you’re here yet. Or he may not admit it.”

  “Heath-stalkers?” Lachlei asked, looking at the body as it disintegrated into foul-smelling smoke. “There are types of demons?”

  “Of course,” Rhyn’athel said. “The heath-stalkers are fairly weak — a good adamantine sword can dispatch them.”

  “Then, Fialan wasn’t killed by one of those.”

  “No,” Rhyn’athel replied. He turned to Ni’yah. “Why would Areyn send a lesser demon?”

  “A test, perhaps?” Ni’yah remarked. “They take little to create.”

  Lachlei stared at him. “
What can we expect?”

  “Arch-demons, certainly,” Laddel said.

  “And maybe worse,” Rhyn’athel replied. “It depends on how far Areyn will go with this.”

  “One thing is certain…Rhyn,” Ni’yah remarked, pausing and emphasizing Rhyn’athel’s mortal name. “We’ll be seeing more of these before the war is over.

  CHAPTER Forty-Four

  Fialan returned to the tent where he had left Eshe sleeping. She was no longer there, and she had left her bedroll unmade. Fialan gazed at the bedroll in puzzlement and turned to Kiril as he entered the tent.

  “Kiril,” he said. “Have you seen Eshe?”

  Kiril shook his head. In the bright sun, the big Shara’kai looked more formidable with his larger Ansgar frame and heavier bone. Not as fast as an Eleion, thought Fialan, but he’s probably stronger than any of us, save perhaps Lochvaur. “I haven’t seen Eshe at all — maybe she’s getting something to eat.”

  “Eat?” Fialan repeated. “You mean we can eat? We need food?”

  “You’ll get hungry and thirsty soon enough,” Kiril remarked. “It’s almost like being alive. If I hadn’t been in Tarentor for so long, I might actually think that I’m alive.”

  Fialan paused. How close might these be to our real bodies? he wondered. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Within his mind’s eye, he felt the unmistakable touch of the Wyrd, and with it his power. His power wasn’t entirely there, but his link with the Wyrd had returned. Just then he saw Eshe in his mind’s eye with a small bundle in her hands, running as fast as she could away from the encampment.

  “Eshe, no!” Fialan whispered.

  “What?” Kiril said.

  “Eshe is trying to escape,” Fialan said.

  Kiril’s face turned pale. “Areyn will whip her.” He paused. “Do you know where she is?”

  Fialan nodded. “This way.” Fialan led Kiril from the tent, past several more tents and westward into the forest. Here, Fialan paused and gazed at the tracks in the snow. There were a myriad of tracks even here, many of which continued into the forest. He tried to summon his Sight to determine which track Eshe had taken, but to no avail.

  “Eshe went this way,” Kiril said as he knelt down, examining one set of tracks in the snow. He pointed at one set that traveled northwestward.

  Fialan gazed at the prints in the snow. “How can you be sure? There’s too many to distinguish.”

  “I can,” Kiril said. “I’m a tracker. Those other footprints were made some hours ago — these are fresh. They’re about the same size of a woman’s track, too.” He sighed. “Damn it, Eshe,” he grumbled. “You’re going to get us all flayed for this.”

  Fialan turned to Kiril. “How do we know that we’ll get caught if we try to escape?”

  Kiril shrugged. “Our bodies are linked to Tarentor. If we go too far from Areyn or one of the demons, we’ll lose them. Areyn doesn’t need massive numbers of demons to look over us because we’ll lose our corporeal selves.” He paused. “At least, that’s what Areyn has told us.”

  “Lochvaur believes that, too,” Fialan mused. “We have to find Eshe.”

  “Follow me, then,” Kiril said. He led Fialan through the snow in the forest. Fialan marveled at Kiril’s strength as the snow began to run deep; the Shara’kai Chi’lan plowed through it tirelessly. “The deep snow has slowed her down,” Kiril remarked. He stomped the snow around them so Fialan could see the tracks ahead. “You purebloods don’t have the stamina of the Shara’kai.”

  Fialan studied the tracks. Although Eshe was tall for a woman, she was still not as tall as either Fialan or Kiril. By the tracks, it looked as if she was wading in the snow. He gazed at the long shadows and the tracks that seemed to go on endlessly. “That’s true,” he said. He glanced at Kiril. “She’d try to get where the snow might be less deep.”

  “That’d be higher ground,” Kiril replied. He pointed to some rocks in the distance. “Eshe would go there and probably rest. Maybe for the night.”

  Fialan gazed at them. “It’ll be dusk soon. Is there an easier way for us to parallel her tracks?”

  Kiril nodded. “We’re on the lee side of the hill where the snow collects. The higher we get along the ridge, the easier it will be to walk on.” He pointed above them. “It’ll be hard going ‘til we get to the top of that rise.”

  Fialan nodded, trusting Kiril’s ability. As they crested the rise, the snow level dropped to a few inches and they were able to walk along it towards the rocks ahead. As Sowelu started sinking lower in the horizon, they reached the rocky outcroppings. Cold and sweat-drenched in their armor, they climbed the rocks to overlook the land below them. Eshe sat next to a small pile of branches and deadwood she had collected and was busy striking her flint.

  She looked up and saw them. Drawing her sword, she backed away. “No, Fialan!” she shouted. “I’m not going back!”

  “Eshe! No!” Fialan said, scrambling down the rocks. He did not draw his sword. “Eshe, Lochvaur says there’s another way.”

  “Kiril — tell him — I can’t go back!” Eshe said. “Fialan, we eat and drink…”

  “Eshe, you’ll lose your form — we’ll all lose our forms if we don’t return,” Kiril said. “Be reasonable. We can’t leave the army…”

  “That’s what Areyn says,” she said. “We don’t know that! Maybe among the living we, too, can live…” She backed away from them.

  “Eshe, no,” Fialan said calmly. “Come back with me before the demons find us. There is another way.”

  “No!” Eshe turned and fled.

  “Rhyn’athel’s blood!” Fialan swore. He and Kiril ran forward, hoping to catch her.

  Eshe shrieked and halted in mid run; her body caught in flame. Before Fialan could stop, both he and Kiril were caught in the fire as well. Excruciating pain, worse than anything Fialan had experienced ran through him. Unable to move, but writhing in agony, Fialan heard Areyn’s mocking laughter.

  I suspected you three would be the first to try to escape. You’re predictable, Fialan.

  Blinded now, Fialan could only suffer the torture and listen to Areyn’s words.

  What should I do with them, Lochvaur? They are yours.

  Indeed, they are mine, Lochvaur said, his voice strong and clear in Fialan’s mind. Two of them were trying to keep the other from fleeing.

  It matters not, Areyn said. They have violated my law. Will you take responsibility for them?

  Silence ensued.

  Will you?

  Damn you, Areyn. I’ll remember this.

  As you have so idly threatened me in the past. Will you take responsibility for their actions?

  I will, Lochvaur said heavily.

  Fialan fell unconscious and knew no more.

  CHAPTER Forty-Five

  It was late when Lachlei and her warriors returned to their camp. Because the Chi’lan were in pursuit of the Silren, a full camp would take too much time to set up and break, so they bivouacked in the cold, huddled around their fires for warmth.

  Rhyn’athel held Lachlei as she lay beside him, shivering in the cold. Despite her offhanded rejection of him before, she let Rhyn’athel wrap his arms around her and his cloak around both of them to keep her warm. Lachlei’s proximity aroused him, but he knew his armor, even though it was flexible mail, would conceal it. He was glad she was facing away from him, or his expression would betray his emotions.

  Lachlei’s own emotions twisted inside her. Rhyn had awoken an old passion. She could feel his power as he held her. He reminded her of her beloved Fialan.

  No. That wasn’t it. Rhyn was Rhyn. Fialan, as dearly as she had loved her husband, was not the warrior Rhyn was. Fialan did not have Rhyn’s intensity or his singular purpose. Lachlei had never met a man like Rhyn, save perhaps Telek. Laddel, too, seemed like Rhyn in a way, but even he deferred to Rhyn. Could Rhyn be a godling — or something else?

  She had sworn to avenge Fialan, and yet Rhyn drew her to him even now. When he kissed her, she had wan
ted him. And yet, the hesitation was there.

  She felt Rhyn shift. “Rhyn,” she whispered. “Are you awake?”

  “Yes,” he said, his tone neutral.

  “Are you worried about the battle tomorrow?” she asked.

  Rhyn’s response was a noncommittal shrug. “Perhaps.”

  Lachlei fell silent, content to feel his rhythmic breathing. “Why is Areyn here and not Rhyn’athel?”

  “Who says Rhyn’athel isn’t here?”

  Lachlei turned her head, catching his smile. “Do you believe the warrior god is with us?”

  “I do.”

  “Then this is a battle of the war between the gods,” Lachlei whispered.

  “Indeed,” he agreed. “It is a part.”

  “Do you know about the war — the war between the gods?” Lachlei asked.

  “A little — what has been passed down from Rhyn’el, Lochvaur’s son.”

  She smiled; she had heard a hedge in his voice. She turned around in his arms, facing him. “What do you know, Rhyn?”

  “What do you wish to know?”

  “How did Rhyn’athel defeat Areyn?”

  Rhyn’athel shrugged. “I suppose he just outfought Areyn,” he said, not meeting her gaze.

  Lachlei smiled as she saw his discomfort. “Rhyn’athel outfought the god of death?”

  “Areyn is an Athel’cen, same as Rhyn’athel and Ni’yah,” Rhyn replied. “He is a very powerful god, but Rhyn’athel is more powerful. Those three gods are Wyrd-born — their powers are beyond the other gods.”

  “So, why the Truce?”

  “An Athel’cen can’t be destroyed,” Rhyn replied. “Their nature is woven through the Web of Wyrd. Rhyn’athel couldn’t destroy Areyn Sehduk any more than Areyn could destroy him. The war had destroyed all the worlds and had even devastated a large portion of Athelren…”

  “Why?”

  Rhyn smiled sadly. “The Fyr.”

  Lachlei stared. “The Fyr? What is that?”

  “The Fyr is the Eternal Fire of creation and destruction. The Athel’cen can use it, but no one else can — not even the other gods.”