Lachlei

by M. H. Bonham

  Areyn’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t need the bitch to defeat you, Rhyn’athel. I have enough power and warriors enough to destroy your tiny army.”

  “Foolish words spoken by a coward,” Imdyr said. “We’ll see how brave you are when you’re writhing on Teiwaz’s blade.”

  Areyn backhanded Imdyr, throwing her to the ground. “Get her out of my sight!” he snarled.

  Imdyr rose and shuddered. She fled on foot, terrified of the death god. Areyn turned to the shrinking Eltar. “Prepare for battle.”

  *****

  “That was cruel,” Lachlei said, gazing at Rhyn’athel. The link she had felt between them severed abruptly, leaving her empty and confused. “That poor girl…”

  His eyes were emotionless. “I am not here for kindness,” he said. “The Eltar girl was Areyn’s tool to get to me — to see where he could not. I had to make her useless to him.” He smiled grimly. “You, most of all, should feel no pity for Imdyr. She would’ve given you up to Areyn had you not escaped.” He shook his head. “I should’ve realized she was a Wyrd-blood when you mentioned her name because I couldn’t see her. Only Wyrd-bloods have the power to evade a god’s powers.”

  “What is Wyrd-blood?” she asked.

  “Several millennia ago, the goddess Fala took Areyn as a lover.”

  “Fala took that demon as a lover?” Lachlei asked incredulously.

  “Areyn was not always evil, beloved,” Rhyn’athel replied. “And he is a powerful god in his own right.”

  Lachlei shuddered at the thought.

  “Fala gave birth to twins — Eltar and Mai — the founders of those kindreds.”

  “But shouldn’t they have been gods?” Lachlei asked.

  “They should have, but Fala was one of the ancient ones, the Laeca, — the ones that came before the Athel’cen. Fala’s offspring were mortal — called Wyrd-blood. Not quite gods, but their powers could circumvent some of our own. Areyn and Fala used them during the wars. The girl is the last of that line.”

  “Not quite gods? Demons, then?”

  Rhyn’athel shrugged. “You could call them demons, but I’ve considered them akin to my Eleion.”

  “What happened to them? Did you destroy them?” Lachlei gazed at Rhyn’athel, whose emotions were now unreadable.

  He shook his head. “No, though Ni’yah wanted me to do so. Perhaps I should’ve listened to him because the Wyrd twists itself into new patterns with each choice I made. Eltar, Fala, and their kindreds joined me against their sire.”

  “They fought on our side?”

  “Ironic, isn’t it?” Rhyn’athel smiled sadly. “They paid with their lives. In the Battle of the Nine Worlds, Areyn slew all Wyrd-blood, save Lochvaur and Laddel — or so we had thought. One must have survived.”

  “Lochvaur? Lochvaur is Wyrd-blood?” Lachlei asked. “I thought he was first-blood.”

  “He is that, too, and much more,” Rhyn’athel replied.

  Ni’yah rode up beside them before Lachlei could respond. “Areyn’s troops are advancing.” He grinned. “Whatever you’ve done, you’ve angered him.”

  Rhyn’athel gazed at the oncoming lines. “Good. His temper is his downfall.” He turned to Lachlei. “I realize it is your place to make the speech before a battle, beloved,” he began.

  Lachlei laughed. “That is because we have had not had you lead us.”

  “Indeed,” he said with a wry smile. He rode out in front of the troops and drew Teiwaz, the Sword of Power. At once, Rhyn’athel became the fiery god she had seen before. How easily it was for him to shift between the two, she thought. The Chi’lan and their horses stood steady, but there was an awed murmur throughout the lines.

  “My Lochvaur and Laddel!” he shouted, and his voice thundered over the land. “Areyn rides towards us, leading his vast army. He scorns your very existence and seeks to destroy you. And yet, Areyn knows naught of what truly you are created from. For the Lochvaur are my own, just as the Laddel are Ni’yah’s. Each one of you is a part of me. Each time Areyn takes you he robs from me…” He paused and his gaze settled on Lachlei. “No longer.”

  Ni’yah broke into a grin. “At last!” he said in a low voice that only Lachlei could hear.

  Lachlei glanced at Ni’yah. What could this mean? she wondered, not daring to hope…

  “We fight today, not just for our lives, but for our futures,” he said. “Mortal you are, and mortal you will be, but it will be my choice now, not his. You will fight today, but you do so for your freedom. Freedom from Areyn!”

  The warriors banged their swords against their shields. “Rhyn’athel! Rhyn’athel!” they chanted.

  “Fight with me, die for me, and you’ll be rewarded,” Rhyn’athel said. “Live and you will see a greater world!”

  “Rhyn’athel! Rhyn’athel!”

  Rhyn’athel rode back into the lines. “They’re at the bluffs,” he said, turning to Lachlei. “Give the command to fire.”

  CHAPTER Eighty-One

  Areyn’s army had halted its advance. The rolling fields of Darkling Plain had given way to a bluff that rose from several hills and joined the foothills of the Lochvaren Mountains. The bluff wasn’t steep, but its rocky slopes and winding cart path made for a difficult charge.

  Areyn Sehduk rode forward on his demon steed. The Eltar and Silren parted in sheer terror, but the dead Chi’lan warriors held their ground. Their silver eyes gazed at the death god in contempt — there was no fear in the Braesan. Fialan sat on his steed beside Eshe and watched as the death god approached Lochvaur, who stood beside his charger. The son of Rhyn’athel met the death god’s gaze fearlessly.

  “Why have you halted?” Areyn demanded, dismounting the demon steed. “The Lochvaur are up there.”

  “I will not lead them,” Lochvaur replied. His silver eyes held contempt for the god.

  “You will not?” Areyn demanded. “You have no will save mine. You do as I command.”

  Lochvaur laughed. “Rhyn’athel has suffered your insolence enough, as have I. Soon you will have no control over us.”

  Eshe turned to Fialan. “What is he doing? Baiting Areyn?”

  Fialan shook his head in wonder. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

  Areyn raised his mace to strike Lochvaur, but the godling caught his wrist. “I wouldn’t be too eager to inflict punishment, Areyn,” Lochvaur said menacingly. “My father will take each blow out of your own hide.”

  “You will do as I say,” Areyn growled, but lowered the weapon.

  “For the time being,” Lochvaur said. “But we are walking into a trap.”

  “A trap?” Areyn laughed. “Your sire has only sixty-thousand troops. I hardly call it a trap. Attack now!”

  Lochvaur smiled coldly. “As you wish, my lord,” he said sardonically. “It will be a pleasure to die for you one last time.”

  *****

  Lachlei brandished her sword and rode out, her gaze on the approaching army below. “Archers — Ready!”

  The longbow men nocked their arrows and pulled back. “Mark your targets!” she heard Cahal order them.

  There were Lochvaur among Areyn’s troops, she reminded herself. Lochvaur such as Fialan…

  “Steady!” she shouted as she saw the Braesan charge the hill.

  Forgive me, my old friends, she thought.

  Trust me, came Rhyn’athel’s voice in her head.

  Her face became grim. “Fire!” she shouted.

  A maelstrom of arrows flew overhead. They roared as they flew towards their targets. Wave after wave of arrows arced across the sky and slaughtered the charging warriors. Lachlei watched in amazement, half expecting fire to come raining down on her troops as it had at Caer Lochvaren.

  Yet when the flames came, they came not from Areyn, but from Rhyn’athel. Blue ethereal flame shot across the sky and arced into Areyn’s army. Areyn’s warriors fell as they charged. Braesan, Silren, and Eltar bodies lay in piles as they fell and still, they came.

  Lachlei stared
at the bodies and the fire in wonder. She turned and saw Rhyn’athel smiling as he watched the decimation of Areyn’s army. “Where is Areyn’s counter?” she asked.

  “Where indeed?” Rhyn’athel chuckled. He glanced at Ni’yah knowingly as though they shared a private joke.

  “Take away his source of power,” said Ni’yah calmly, “and he has naught to strike with. Ironically, he is doing it to himself.”

  *****

  Arrows hailed around Areyn Sehduk’s army, cutting down the living and dead alike. Adamantine tipped, the arrows killed demon as well as Eleion; dead as well as living. The arrows felled the Braesan; their bodies disintegrated in the air.

  Fialan and Eshe rode forward, despite the hail of arrows. Fialan knew he could not disobey the death god’s commands, and yet, he stopped and watched as the battle commenced. Something was wrong. With each dead soldier, there should have been two to take their place — and yet, the bodies were piling fast. The demons were coming through the ranks, and the arrows cut them down, too.

  “Fialan!” cried Eshe as she fell from her horse, an arrow piercing her chest.

  “Eshe!” Fialan cried. Knowing the pain he would suffer, Fialan dismounted and ran to her. He held her in his arms. She was coughing blood.

  “Fialan,” she said hoarsely. “Something is wrong.”

  “You’re wounded,” Fialan said, looking at arrow protruding from her chest. “If I only I could heal you…”

  “No, something is wrong with Areyn — don’t you feel it?” she said.

  Fialan looked up. The numbers of advancing troops were thinning. “There are no replacements.” He grinned. “We should be regenerating…”

  “But, we’re not,” Eshe said triumphantly. “Rhyn’athel has broken Areyn’s power.”

  Fialan paused. “But, then you will die…”

  “We are already dead, Fialan.” With that, the life force within the shell vanished, and she crumbled into dust.

  Fialan bowed his head and wept. He never saw the flames as they engulfed him.

  *****

  Areyn snarled in rage as the ethereal flames raced down the bluff towards the Braesan and the other warriors, powerless to stop it. Areyn drew on the energy of the dead, shielding part of the army against the torrential flames. Yet, with their deaths, there was nothing. Their life forces no longer fed him. Frantically, Areyn tried to draw his soldiers from his world, only to find the gateway shut. The shield collapsed, and the ethereal fire consumed all in its path.

  The living Eleion broke ranks and fled in terror. Only the demons remained. Areyn drew on their dark power, such as it was, and established a shield. He turned to a demon captain. “Flank them!” he shouted. “Take five thousand and crush his army while I attack with the rest.”

  Areyn watched as the demon captain left. Rhyn’athel and Ni’yah had somehow effectively broken his link between his own world and this one. And his own dead were given him nothing in power — nor had the living, for that matter. It was as though his power source had simply vanished. Without the dead to feed from, Areyn was weakening. He would have to return to his realm, accepting defeat once again.

  Unless…

  There was still the Fyr — the Eternal Fire.

  CHAPTER Eighty-Two

  Lachlei gazed at the slaughter below them. She turned to Rhyn’athel who grinned at her. “How?” she asked. “Rhyn, how did you stop Areyn?”

  “Areyn relies on the dead for his power, beloved,” Rhyn’athel said. “He assumes he can bring as many dead as he needs.”

  “You had Ni’yah close the Gateway in the north,” Lachlei said, the answer dawning on her. “Areyn used the Gateway to bring the dead through.”

  “Normally, he would use his own powers to bring them forth, but his time in this world has weakened him,” Rhyn’athel remarked. “He’s had to feed to keep the Silren guise and has had to feed to keep both the living and dead under his control. And, he has had to maintain a shield to keep me from finding him…”

  “But you have had to maintain your body and keep yourself hidden from Areyn,” Lachlei said.

  “But I do not control you or these forces,” Rhyn’athel said. “Nor does my power come from destruction. My power is in creation, Lachlei. Areyn and I are opposites.”

  “But you can destroy…”

  “Just as Areyn can create,” he remarked. “But Ni’yah and I chose long ago where we would draw our power.”

  “Then, the battle is won…”

  “Not quite,” Rhyn’athel said, gazing below. “I must still confront him, and I must take from him that which is rightfully mine.”

  Lachlei met his gaze. “Will Areyn accept it?”

  Rhyn’athel grinned. “Probably not, but it is not his choice any longer. The Chi’lan belong to me, beloved, be they alive or dead. Areyn can take those who follow him, but Ni’yah and I will deny the source of his power.”

  “How?”

  A battle-horn rang across the fields. Lachlei felt a chill run through her. She turned her horse and saw an army along the hills of Darkling Plain. She turned to Rhyn’athel. “Who are they?”

  “Chi’lan,” Rhyn’athel replied.

  She stared as the army stood ready. “Chi’lan? There aren’t any more Chi’lan, Rhyn,” she said.

  “Lochvaur and Fialan will be leading the warriors against the demons.”

  *****

  Lochvaur reined his horse, and grinned at Fialan, Kiril, and Eshe who sat on their own warhorses beside him. They had appeared on Darkling Plain, sandwiching the enemy between themselves and the Lochvaur and Laddel lines.

  “Hold your position!” Lochvaur shouted as he rode down the front lines. “We won’t be fighting our own any longer! We fight for Rhyn’athel now!” A cheer rang over the plain as the godling’s message was passed through the Chi’lan ranks.

  Fialan stared at the godling. One moment, he had been kneeling beside Eshe, weeping for her; the next moment, he was here, astride a warhorse.

  Fialan looked down at his body. Armored in mail, his surcoat bore the colors of Rhyn’athel, not Areyn. He took a deep breath, allowing the acrid air to fill his new lungs and turned to Lochvaur in wonder. The godling rode up to him and grinned. No longer did the godling have the pale skin and red cast around his eyes; he looked Eleion, not Braesan. None of the former Braesan did. They looked like a powerful Chi’lan army.

  “Feels better to have a real body, doesn’t it?” Lochvaur remarked.

  “It’s real?” Fialan asked. “You mean that we’re not tied to Areyn any longer?”

  “No,” Lochvaur replied. “Though technically, this body doesn’t belong here either. We’re tied to Athelren now — not Tarentor.”

  “Athelren?” Fialan repeated. “Then, then — we’re Rhyn’athel’s warriors again?”

  “As we always have been,” Lochvaur said with a wry smile.

  “What if we choose not to fight?” Kiril asked. Fialan turned to look at the Shara’kai in wonder. In his new body, Kiril looked impressive — a more fearsome warrior, Fialan could not imagine, save Lochvaur, himself.

  Lochvaur became somber. “That is your choice, Shara’kai. My father will not control us the way Areyn controlled us. It is not in Rhyn’athel’s nature to do so.”

  Kiril grinned. “Then, it’s true — the warrior god has freed us.” He laughed. “I will fight for a god such as Rhyn’athel.”

  “What of you, Fialan?” Lochvaur asked. “You have grievances against the warrior god.”

  Fialan turned and looked at Eshe. She was more beautiful now, and she smiled at him. Fialan felt a twist in his gut as he realized how much he loved Eshe. He had chosen to stay with her — to die with her rather than save himself. What of his loyalty to Lachlei?

  Even as he wondered, he already knew the answer. His death had severed the bond between him and Lachlei. Death did change things. He smiled wryly at Eshe, before turning back to Lochvaur. “Damn you!” he growled in mock anger. “You planned this…�
��

  “Did I?” Lochvaur said. “I don’t see how — I hadn’t any powers while I was under Areyn’s control.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Fialan said. “By Rhyn’athel’s blood, Lochvaur, you know I’d follow you back to Tarentor if you asked. Don’t you think I owe that much allegiance to the warrior god?”

  “This is why I chose you as second-in-command.” He grinned. “How would you like to be known as a demon-slayer? Flayer is bringing five thousand against us.”

  “Demons,” Fialan laughed. He drew his blade — no longer Fyren’s doppelganger, but a broadsword made from Athelren’s adamantine. “It would be a pleasure to see one writhe on my sword.”

  *****

  Areyn shuddered as he felt Rhyn’athel’s power bear down on him. Rhyn’athel’s power surrounded him, threatening to crush him from this world. The Braesan were gone — wrenched from his grasp as though he never had control over them. Their deaths could no longer feed him, and his link with Tarentor was slipping fast.

  Lochvaur’s mocking words haunted him now. The godling must have known Rhyn’athel’s plan. Yet, how Lochvaur kept the knowledge from Areyn, the death god did not know. Areyn mistrusted Lochvaur even though the godling had been under his control the entire time in Tarentor. Lochvaur was not like his sire in one crucial way — Lochvaur’s desire for vengeance was beyond anything seen in the Nine Worlds. It rivaled Areyn’s hatred for Rhyn’athel. That alone had made Lochvaur dangerous.

  But Areyn knew Lochvaur would get his chance at vengeance now that Rhyn’athel and Ni’yah had torn away his power. He could go to the Gateway, but his Sight within the Wyrd showed a Gate Guardian. He could defeat it, but he would be forced to flee back to Tarentor. No, the Fyr was the only way.

  Areyn shed his mortal body, gathering what little power remained to him. The demons would be destroyed. The Eltar and Silren would fall back — no longer under his control. But, he would have the strength to release the deadly eternal fire from his realms. With a shudder, he felt the slender flames slip through his grasp as he released the fire.