Lachlei led the three into Caer Lochvaren, past the guards and the torchlight at the stockade fence, and through the cobblestone streets of the lower grody. Caer Lochvaren had been built on the side of a mountain in the Lochvaren Mountains, ringed by valleys and hills. Outside the city, vast fields of wheat and barley lay cut, already harvested and laying fallow until the spring. Merchant shops and taverns lined the streets of the grody. The buildings were wooden or wattle and daub, suggesting a certain amount of recentness or impermanence to the structures. Rhyn’athel noted that while most of the dwellers were Lochvaur, there were many other kindreds here and even a few Ansgar. Despite the time of night, the buildings were lit and there were people walking about.
“Caer Lochvaren has grown considerably within the past few centuries. Since our truce with the Silren, we’ve been able to focus on our lives, not war,” Lachlei said, seeing Rhyn’s interest in his surroundings.
“Indeed,” Rhyn said. The sensations of this world were almost overwhelming, and he realized he was grinning foolishly.
“It’s not much,” she ventured. “But we’ve had so very little time to put up better defenses.”
Rhyn nodded. “It’s larger than North Marches,” he said, trying to sound casual. “How many live here?”
Lachlei smiled. “The city, itself, has only forty thousand or so—but not all are Lochvaur, as you can see.” She paused. “The outlying areas, maybe a hundred thousand more. Fifty thousand soldiers; maybe of those, two thousand Chi’lan.”
“How many Chi’lan are there in North Marches?” Cahal asked.
Rhyn thought of North Marches, his supposed home. How many were there in that village? His mind reached out to survey the village and felt the equivalent of a hard slap. He hesitated, trying again to focus on the village…
“Rhyn?” Lachlei asked, breaking the god’s concentration. His eyes had become glassy. They now returned to meet her gaze. “Are you all right?”
Rhyn smiled weakly. “Sorry, I get distracted when I’m tired.”
Lachlei shook her head. “Of course, you’ve had a long ride.” She turned to Cahal. “Can you bring him to the Great Hall and see to his needs, Cahal? I must meet the Council and discuss this vote with them. Kellachan?”
Rhyn was going to object, but nodded instead. He didn’t want to leave her—now that he was mortal. But he didn’t want her to suspect he was anything other than a Chi’lan. Not yet. Not now. “I will see you later?”
“I’m sure you will,” she said. Lachlei turned to her cousin and motioned him to follow her.
Rhyn watched Lachlei as she disappeared from sight and felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Cahal grinning at him.
“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” the Chi’lan remarked.
“That she is,” Rhyn agreed.
“Come on, let’s get you some food,” Cahal said and led Rhyn in the opposite direction.
Rhyn’athel followed silently, lost in his thoughts. He felt rather foolish at his reaction to her and everything around him. He felt so transparent—it would be simple for Areyn Sehduk to find him if he continued to act as if everything was new. He was a god—he created most of the things in this world. He knew the very secrets of the Nine Worlds—where the Runestones lay, where the Web of Wyrd touched the fabric of this world, where the Fyr lay chained—but he gawked at simple things like a village or a woman. Rhyn’athel had thought that knowing was the same as experiencing. He was quickly getting a lesson in the experience area.
“I’d be a little more subtle, if I were you,” Cahal remarked, breaking the god out of his reverie. They halted at the main gates to Caer Lochvaren. Chi’lan and soldiers guarded the massive iron gates that protected the fortress inside. They nodded to Cahal as both he and Rhyn’athel passed through.
Rhyn’athel hesitated, but he could see Cahal smiling. “Don’t worry—I won’t say anything,” the Chi’lan assured him. “That’s the first time Lachlei has smiled since Fialan’s death. And Rhyn’athel only knows why she decided to accept the throne. Lachlei wouldn’t even consider it before you appeared.”
12
Fialan stared at Eshe. “What? I can’t be dead!”
Eshe smirked as she leaned against the polearm. “Really?” she said. “What was the last thing you remember before you woke up here?”
“I was in a battle with a demon that looked like a Silren…” he began. He paused as the voices came unbidden to his mind.
“What are you? Demon?”
“Your death. I grow weary of this game.”
“I can’t be dead. What about Lachlei? My son, Haellsil? My kingdom?” He tried desperately to access the mind-link he shared with Lachlei, but it was gone. Fialan stared at Eshe in disbelief. “The mind-link—what happened to it?”
Eshe sighed, looking bored. “They all say this—or something like it.” She eyed him in amusement. “So, you were a king?”
“Heir of Lochvaur,” he said. “First-blood.”
“You’ll find Lochvaur here too,” she said. “I fought for him. Your titles and bloodlines have little meaning here. Your first-blood powers will not work anymore.”
Fialan drew a sharp inward breath and then shook his head. “I can’t be dead—I breathe.”
“You have a body in this world,” said Eshe. “Courtesy of Areyn.” She turned and began to walk away.
“Where are you going?” Fialan called after her, running to catch up.
“Back to the others,” Eshe said. “My job with you is done until Areyn calls me again.”
“Areyn calls you again?” Fialan repeated. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Eshe turned to him and for a moment, she looked as though she might strike him. Instead, something flickered in her eyes—pity? Her silver eyes then hardened. “You’ll learn soon enough, Fialan.”
Lachlei strode into the High Council of the Lochvaur. The Council room was a large hall, hewn from oak, with exposed rafters and tall clerestories that brought in light. It was dark and smoky inside. A firepit with a crackling fire sat in the middle with rows of benches arranged before it for the nobles. The ruddy light cast shadows on the nobles’ faces, but she could see that many were still here. A small dais with two thrones sat along the back wall. Red and gold tapestries lined the walls and the Lochvaur banners hung overhead. The tapestries depicted heroic battles in Lochvaur history.
One tapestry, which Lachlei had always loved, was of Lochvaur fighting side-by-side with Rhyn’athel, the god of warriors. All first-bloods could trace their lineage back over two thousand years to Lochvaur, the son of Rhyn’athel. She gazed at the creatures they were fighting—dark, shadow-like things with teeth and claws. They were demons—creatures of Areyn Sehduk’s creation. Like so many things touched by the god of death, these creatures lived only to destroy.
Lachlei suppressed a shudder. She had sensed the vile magic that had tainted the bodies and wondered about the demons yet again. Lachlei had considered herself a powerful first-blood, and though she was loathed to admit Kellachan was right, she had been Fialan’s equal in many ways.
Her mind strayed to Rhyn for a moment. The handsome Chi’lan was a bit of an enigma for her. She had never felt someone with that much defense, nor had her mental probes ever been detected. Could he be the next Lochvaur champion?
Lachlei turned and glanced at Kellachan, who nodded to her. She strode in and met the chief of the High Council, Laewynd. Laewynd was possibly the oldest Lochvaur alive, being nearly five hundred years. Most Eleion were not much older than Lachlei, herself, because of the frequent warring between the kindreds. Despite his age, Laewynd looked only slightly older than Lachlei, but no longer had the hardness of the warrior build.