The screams of battle and blood-rage pounded in Rhyn’athel’s veins, and he grinned as he saw the Chi’lan force the Silren warriors into a hasty retreat. He was still very much the god of warriors, despite the mortal body. He spurred the warhorse forward, brandishing his sword, screaming a battle cry that hadn’t been heard in over a thousand years. He led the charge into the fleeing Silren lines.
Then, Rhyn’athel saw the dark warlord on his demon steed. Cold hatred filled the warrior god as he gazed on the warrior called Akwel. The man was Silren, with ice-blue eyes and a long white mane, but Rhyn’athel immediately saw through the guise. Areyn rode one of his demons as a mount. The creature snarled and slavered as blood and foam dripped from its fangs. Instead of hooves, it had thick, rippling muscles and massive clawed feet. It turned its red eyes on Rhyn’athel.
The warrior god screamed in rage, ready to leap from his own horse and kill the vile thing. How dare Areyn bring this creature into this world!
“Rhyn! Rhyn!”
Cahal’s voice brought the god back. Cahal was shouting. “We’ve got to go! Now!” Fear was in the Chi’lan’s voice, and Rhyn’athel surveyed the situation. Thousands of Silren had turned to fight, and the Lochvaur were now fighting for their lives.
For a second, the warrior god hesitated. Areyn was still too far away for Rhyn’athel to reach him. He reined his horse hard. “Let’s get out of here!” he ordered. There would be another time.
Flames exploded between the Silren and the Lochvaur. The Silren jerked back, fearful, but Areyn laughed. “After them!” he shouted.
28
Lachlei sat on her mount, anger building within her. She shouldn’t have let Rhyn convince her to wait with the rest of the army. She should be with him, leading the attack. The Silren and the demon had killed Fialan—she wanted her revenge. The sheer arrogance of the Silren galled Lachlei and she wanted blood.
All around her, the Chi’lan stood ready. She had lined up five hundred longbow men behind the main cavalry. Even the archers had their mounts ready if they needed to flee. Still, Lachlei knew the longbows were the Lochvaur’s greatest defense. She wished she had more Chi’lan to use as bowmen, but she didn’t dare spread her warriors too thin.
Not that the enemy would know, she thought. It was almost dark and in the dim light and the fog, she couldn’t see the end of her battle lines. She had forbidden the use of fire—it would betray their position and their numbers.
Lachlei reached out with her powers, trying to sense the battle ahead. Her Sight was limited, but she did see flashes of the battle. Rhyn’s image came to mind, and she saw him charge against the Silren, wielding his great Sword of Power. She watched unable to turn away from the vision, but fearful that the North Marches Chi’lan might die. Cahal flashed into her vision, pulling Rhyn away and the image faded. Lachlei concentrated, trying desperately to bring the vision back…
“Lachlei!” Kellachan’s voice brought her back to the present.
She turned to Kellachan as he rode towards her. “What is it, Kel?”
“Our scouts have returned—Rhyn is leading the retreat. They’ll be here any moment.”
Suddenly, the sounds of battle rang through the hills.
Steady! she mindspoke to her warriors. Don’t attack our own.
Horses and Chi’lan burst through the fog towards the army, some hundred yards out. The Chi’lan army held fast.
Rhyn led the retreat, his great gray horse moving like a shadow through the mist. Get ready! he shouted mentally with such power that Lachlei was certain the hills were ringing with his voice.
Archers! she called mentally. Steady!
The longbow men had already nocked their arrows. They pulled back, waiting for the command.
The Silren warriors burst through the fog, their torches lit. They rode bearing their blue and silver colors as they chased the Chi’lan. Some saw the army, and their horses skidded to a halt as they reined them hard, but others, intent on their quarry, continued to charge headlong towards the Lochvaur army.
Fire! Lachlei shouted in mindspeak. A storm of arrows flew overhead as the longbow men released their bowstrings. Volley after volley of arrows flew towards the Silren, cutting down the soldiers.
Rhyn reined his horse and looked questioningly at Lachlei. She sat sternly on her mount, watching the arrows provide an invincible wall against the Silren. The Silren turned and fled, chased into the fog by the lethal rain from the Lochvaur archers.
But Lachlei knew it couldn’t last. She glanced at Kellachan, who rode among the archers. He nodded and gave her a knowing look.
We’ll be out of arrows within a few minutes, Kellachan said in mindspeak.
Areyn cursed as he watched the Silren retreat. He had expected heavy casualties, but not this great. Few Lochvaur had fallen in the initial attack and retreat, but now the wall of arrows seemed impenetrable.
The explosions and subsequent illusions had been impressive. So impressive that Areyn Sehduk had wondered if the wolf-god were nearby. Still, a powerful first-blood could pull it off—if there were one. Areyn searched his memory for Rhyn’athel’s first-bloods—who could possibly have such power? Fialan, certainly, but he was dead. The only other first-bloods were Fialan’s consort, Lachlei, and a cousin, Kellachan; neither had seemed very powerful. But there had been another face among the warriors that charged. A familiar face…
Slayer champed in vexation, and Areyn looked up. Already, the Silren line was retreating towards him. Sighing with boredom and annoyance, Areyn rode forward. The Eltar witch was nowhere to be seen. Typical. Imdyr had fled at the sight of the Lochvaur attack. He would deal with her later.
Galen rode towards him. The commander was covered in blood and grime. Some of it was his own blood—Areyn was certain Galen would die from a painful infection. The thought cheered him greatly.
“Their arrows are keeping us back,” Galen said. “They have longbow men.”
Areyn shook his head. “They’re almost out, you fool! Gather your men and prepare for another attack. This time, we’ll break right through their lines.”
The flicker of torches through the fog told Lachlei that the Silren army was massing for another attack. How many were there? she wondered, trying to gain a sense for the numbers of dead on both sides. The fog was still thick, and now smoke choked the air.
Night had fallen, and Lachlei could see the reddish glow of the moons overhead through the thick smoke and fog. She could hardly tell the difference between the smoke and the mist anymore, but both had helped their cause. Lachlei could sense the magic that pervaded the woods around them—the fog and the smoke were supernatural as though a first-blood had used his power to ward off the approaching army.
Rhyn, she thought. The first-blood Chi’lan had to be the reason. If it were he, then Rhyn was more powerful than Fialan had been. Indeed, she doubted the world had seen a first-blood like him since Lochvaur.