“Why?”
“Well, you’re different. Most when they realize they’re dead are resigned to it. They want to see their parents or dead loved ones or whatever…” “I’ve made my peace with the dead long ago,” he said. “And if what you say is true, I have a long time to see my dead loved ones. My concern, Eshe, is with the living.”
Eshe paused and considered him thoughtfully. “You are different, Fialan. Perhaps I was hasty to think otherwise.”
The swollen red sun was slipping below the horizon when Eshe led Fialan into a red canyon. The canyon led along the ruddy desert cliffs where a fortress cut from stone sat hewn from the sandstone walls. Fialan stared at the structure in awe. A keep, fortified by a large curtain wall, complete with defensible towers, sat in the high cliffs. It was as large as Caer Lochvaren.
“How long did it take to build that?” he asked.
Eshe shrugged. “When you have all the time in the Nine Worlds, what does it matter?”
“But how did they get the tools?”
Eshe shook her head. “I don’t know, but the sandstone is soft. It wouldn’t survive a siege.”
“Still, wouldn’t it give people hope?”
“I suppose it gives hope to some,” Eshe said slowly. “But most feel it is folly.”
Fialan laughed. “A fool’s fight, eh? Then, no doubt you consider me a fool.”
Eshe shook her head. “I think your quest may be in vain, Fialan, but I don’t consider you a fool.”
As they walked towards the cliff, they saw that stairs had been painstakingly hewn in the red cliff face to provide a way up towards the fortress. The trail crisscrossed the face of the rock, with many switchbacks that allowed a steep but traversable climb. Fialan hesitated as Eshe grasped the handholds that led to the stairs.
“What’s wrong?” Eshe asked, glancing behind.
“There are no guards.”
“Who would you guard against?” Eshe asked. “The demons can come and go as they please, but they don’t enter this place. Those who seek refuge—if you want to call it that—are welcome since they are fellow Eleion. Most who come here are Chi’lan, but there are a few Lochvaur soldiers and some from other kindreds. Mostly first-bloods, like yourself, but there are many of common birth.”
“Were you first-blood?”
“Do I look first-blood?”
“I don’t know—I didn’t know first-bloods had a look about them,” Fialan said.
“They do,” Eshe said. “When you see Lochvaur, you’ll see what I mean.” She started climbing.
“Then you’ve stayed in the fortress for some time,” Fialan said as he climbed behind her.
Eshe stepped onto the stairs and frowned. “Yes, I did.” She climbed the stairs until it leveled out onto a shelf. “Aren’t you ever silent?” “No,” Fialan said with a grin. “Why did you leave?”
“Why did you die?”
“Who says I’m dead?” Fialan said. “Now, why did you leave?” He stepped onto the stairs and glanced down. The drop was thirty feet. “I guess it’s a good thing I can’t die now.” He looked at Eshe. “Why’d you leave?”
Eshe shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess I lost hope.” She started to walk away as he stepped onto the ledge.
“Wait!” he said.
Eshe glanced behind, her face no longer a mask. “Leave me alone.”
“Why?” He gripped her arm.
He stared as he saw tears streaming down her face. “It’s been so long, Fialan,” she said. Eshe closed her eyes and wept, burying her face in his shoulder.
Fialan held her. “Eshe, Eshe!” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“How long has it been since the Battle of the Nine Worlds?” she asked.
Fialan looked down at her. “Is time the same here as Elren?”
“I don’t know—some say it is, but Lochvaur is not certain about that. How long has it been in the world of the living?”
Fialan sighed. “It’s been two thousand years, Eshe.”
“I have been dead for over two thousand years,” Eshe said, letting the words sink in. “Fialan, how can one hope after so long?”
Fialan looked into Eshe’s eyes. “I don’t know, Eshe, but if Lochvaur still has hope, then I will have hope.”
“If Lochvaur does not?” she asked.
Fialan grinned. “Then, I will still have hope.”
20
“The Silren have attacked North Marches,” Lachlei said, flinging open the doors to the High Council. It was morning when she strode in, dressed as a Chi’lan, her mail ringing with each step. Lachlei noted, much to her anger, that not one of the Council had risen in her presence. Laewynd gazed at her, his silver eyes unperturbed.
“We know, Lachlei,” he said. “Some of us on the Council do have the Sight.”
Lachlei flushed at the rebuke. “Then you know that they put every man, woman, and child to the sword?” The council members glanced at each other, but said nothing.
“We were discussing what action we should take.”
“Discussing? Discussing!” Lachlei stared at Laewynd. “Are you joking? We’ve been attacked.”
“North Marches has been attacked,” Laewynd said. “Not Caer Lochvaren.”
“Lochvaren has been attacked,” Lachlei corrected him. “And North Marches is as much a part of Lochvaren as Caer Lochvaren.”
“The land has been under dispute for some time,” said Moira. “Fialan’s father, Lochalan, negotiated these lands from Silvain.”
Lachlei stared at Moira and then at the others. “The demon who killed Fialan leads their army. We are not safe—he will march to Caer Lochvaren…”
Laewynd raised his hand. “We don’t know that, Lachlei—we can only speculate.”
She stared. “You would stand by idly and do nothing?”
Laewynd shook his head. “I wouldn’t act in such haste.”
“But haste is what we need!” She paused and met his gaze. “I’ll take the army to North Marches.”
The council members glanced at each other. “That may not be wise,” said Laewynd at last.
“Why?”
“Our intelligence indicates that the Elesil may be massing an army to attack us.”
Of course. Lachlei frowned. The Elesil were related to the Silren and held treaties with them. “But the Silren and the Elesil may join together to siege Caer Lochvaren—certainly we should stop the Silren before they get too far south.”
“Not necessarily.”
“I will lead an army to North Marches…”
“No.”
“No?” She stared at them aghast.
“You’re not queen yet, Lachlei,” Laewynd said. “Despite our vote, you won’t be queen until the coronation tonight—assuming there is no challenger.”
“A technicality.”
“A reality,” said Laewynd. “Don’t give us cause to reconsider.”
“You wouldn’t dare. You can’t change your vote once the Council has decided.”
“Can’t I?” Laewynd smiled. “Perhaps I can’t change the vote according to Chi’lan law, but there are other ways to stop you from taking the throne.”
Lachlei met his gaze. She knew those ways. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?” Laewynd leaned back and smiled. “A word to one of the more ambitious Chi’lan might result in a challenger. And the last time I checked, Chi’lan Lachlei, you haven’t seen a battle in three years.”
“You’d challenge after you voted me as queen?”
“Not I,” Laewynd said. “I have no taste for the throne. But there are some who do. Now, forget about North Marches, Lachlei. The Lochvaur have other pressing issues.”
“You would’ve never denied Fialan the army.”