“It was Areyn,” Ni’yah repeated stubbornly. “No Silren, not even Silvain, could use that magic. When will you learn, my brother, that Areyn uses the Truce to keep you out of his way?”
Rhyn’athel frowned. “And when will you quit meddling in the affairs of the Eleion? You will bring the war back to the Fifth World if Areyn recognizes you in your current form.”
“Then, let him!” Ni’yah snapped. “This charade has gone on long enough, my brother. Areyn is in Elren, and you are a coward for not standing up to him.”
Rhyn’athel’s face darkened. He stood up, his hand straying to the sword hilt at his side. “Who are you calling a coward, Ni’yah?” he growled. “I don’t slink around like some common cur, meddling in affairs I have no business in.”
Ni’yah transformed to his god form. He was shorter than Rhyn’athel nearly half a foot, but the other god’s impressive stature did nothing to intimidate him. “Are you threatening me?” Ni’yah demanded. “If you are, then you choose your battles poorly, my brother. You can’t defeat Areyn Sehduk without me.”
Anger glinted in Rhyn’athel’s steel eyes, and for a moment the two brothers stood, gazes locked. Then, Rhyn’athel began to chuckle. “Damn you, Ni’yah!” he said, shaking his head. “You’re incorrigible! If you were anyone else…”
Ni’yah smiled wryly. “You’d teach me a terrible lesson—but you won’t.”
Rhyn’athel gazed at his brother. “Someday, you may get yourself into trouble that not even I can get you out of.”
“Perhaps,” the wolf-god shrugged. “But that time is not now. Fialan is dead. Areyn killed him…”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know the mark of an immortal’s work. Who else would desire to destroy the peace we’ve achieved?”
Rhyn’athel shook his head. “It could be followers of Areyn ...”
“As long as the Fifth World remains under both your and Areyn’s control, there will be no peace. Areyn will not settle for the Nine Worlds being equally divided.” Ni’yah sighed. “With Fialan dead, the power will shift—you know that.” “Fialan was my champion,” Rhyn’athel agreed. “There will have to be another.”
Ni’yah frowned. “You said that when Lochvaur died—and there has been no equal to him. That was another time when you gave into Areyn’s demands…”
Rhyn’athel’s gaze hardened and Ni’yah knew the barb had hit its mark. “Don’t you think I rue that decision, Ni’yah? Lochvaur and I agreed that for the sake of the Truce, he should remain in Areyn’s realm. You, I remember, talked me into it.”
“You’ve given too much for peace, brother.”
Rhyn’athel’s face was expressionless, but Ni’yah knew he had pushed the warrior god past his limit. “Don’t you think I regret every day that Lochvaur stays under Areyn’s power? Don’t you think I regret that my Chi’lan feed that demon god’s power? Ni’yah, if it were not for the living…”
“And now, without a champion, we risk that, too. There’s no other living right now who could rival Fialan,” said Ni’yah. He paused and a glint entered his eyes. “Save one.”
“Who?”
“Lachlei.” Ni’yah’s eyes gleamed now. “She could do it.”
Rhyn’athel scowled. “Fialan’s consort?” He searched his memory for the Lochvaur woman’s image. None came readily to mind.
“Lachlei is Chi’lan,” said Ni’yah. “She trained under Lochalan; she’s a distant cousin. And she’s half Laddel as well. Her mother Ladara was Laddel’s granddaughter…”
“Then, she’s first-blood,” Rhyn’athel mused.
“Oh yes, she is,” Ni’yah grinned. “She’s twice first-blood, from both the Lochvaur and Laddel lines. Very powerful—if she’d use her magic. She was an exceptional warrior before she became Fialan’s queen.” He paused and glanced sideways at his brother. “She’s beautiful, too.”
Rhyn’athel stared at Ni’yah. “You’ve been among the mortals for far too long.”
Ni’yah chuckled. “I have—I won’t deny it. I’ve learned to appreciate what the Fifth World has to offer.” He paused. “But Lachlei can’t handle Areyn Sehduk alone, my brother. She’ll need your help.”
Rhyn’athel shook his head. “I’m sworn by the Truce to not become involved.”
“Then, at least come to Elren and see what Areyn has done,” Ni’yah said. “Observe what has happened first hand, and then tell me this is not the work of the death god.”
Rhyn’athel hesitated. He knew Ni’yah had a good reason for being persistent, even if his brother was a rogue. Rhyn’athel stood for a moment, arms crossed, vexed at the choice he had to make.
Ni’yah smiled slyly as he watched his brother weigh the options, his brass eyes glittering with mischief. “Observe—that’s all,” Ni’yah said. “You don’t need to act…”
“Observe,” repeated Rhyn’athel. It sounded harmless, but it was Ni’yah and Rhyn’athel knew it wasn’t. Ni’yah had one final trick to play. He sighed. “Very well,” Rhyn’athel said, at last. “I will observe—that is all.”
“That’s all,” said Ni’yah, triumph ringing in his voice.
Rhyn’athel fixed him with a stare. “That is all,” he said with finality.
4
Lachlei watched the wagons enter Caer Lochvaren. The iron gates swung wide to admit the slow and somber procession. All along the wall, walks, and towers of the fortress city, Chi’lan warriors turned in respect towards the wagons bearing the bodies of the king and his guard.
By Eleion standards, Caer Lochvaren was a small fortress city. It had a single keep and bailey, with no other towers and no buildings larger than two stories. The whole fortress was little more than the fortified settlement it replaced. Only the keep and curtain walls were made from stone. All other buildings were wooden, built from timber taken from the surrounding forests. Another cluster of homes and shops lay just beyond the walls, protected by a palisade and moat as a secondary defense.
Not much more than a grody, Fialan had said. Lachlei smiled sadly at her husband’s words. Fialan would never get the chance to see the Lochvaur to the greatness he envisioned. Of all the Chi’lan, Lachlei believed Fialan could have done it. Fialan had the strength, determination, and the power to make the Lochvaur into the greatest kindred.
Now, Fialan was dead.
The Lochvaur had never been the largest kindred of the Nine. Even so, the Chi’lan warriors had become legendary as they defended themselves against larger, more aggressive kindreds like the Silren, Eltar, and Redel. Warriors who preferred peace to war, the Chi’lan had always sought to settle their differences with treaty, but were never afraid to fight or die.
Now, the Chi’lan and the Lochvaur were leaderless.
Lachlei walked slowly from the mead hall. Gone were the tears, replaced by cold anger. Gone too was the finery of the office. Lachlei now wore her old mail and badges of a Chi’lan warrior. Her surcoat and cloak still shone bright red-gold, and her old broadsword hung at her side.