“No myth,” Rhyn said. “But Rhyn’athel created those long before the gods learned to forge Swords of Power. The Swords of Power were the culmination of Rhyn’athel’s earlier works.”
“Must I forge one of these blades?” she asked.
Rhyn shook his head. “You’re not a godling—you haven’t the power to forge one. Anyway, there is no fire hot enough in this world anymore to forge one. Fyren should work, even though it isn’t a true Sword of Power,” Rhyn replied. “Actually any adamantine blade will work, but the bearer must have enough power to use it.” He handed her the blade. “Hold Fyren and concentrate on it.”
Lachlei held Fyren in both hands. She stared at the blade, trying to imagine it sparking to life. It felt heavy and cold in her hands. She turned to Rhyn’athel with a puzzled expression. “I feel nothing.”
“Relax,” he said. “Focus on your power.”
Lachlei closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She exhaled slowly and tried to clear her mind. Lachlei became more aware of Rhyn’s presence beside her—each breath he took, his nearness…
“Don’t focus on me,” Rhyn said. “On the sword.”
Lachlei smiled slyly. She turned her mind towards the sword, focusing on her power. Fyren began to warm in her hands. She opened her eyes and saw it glowing silver-white. She caught her breath.
“Keep focusing,” Rhyn said, his voice stern.
“It takes a lot of power,” she whispered.
“It will.”
Lachlei reached deep within herself. This was the sword she would kill the demon who murdered Fialan. She would take her revenge…
The sword flared with her anger and burned her fingers. She cried out and nearly dropped it in pain and surprise. Rhyn’s hands wrapped around hers as she dropped to her knees. Fyren clattered to the ground.
“Lachlei!” he said. “Lachlei!”
Lachlei gripped his hands. They felt remarkably soothing. She did not pull away and looked into his eyes and saw worry. “Rhyn, it burned me…” She turned her hands over and saw no blisters or scars. “What happened?” she whispered.
“You must have tapped your rage,” Rhyn said. “It is a powerful weapon, but one that cuts both ways.”
“You mean my anger can destroy a demon?”
“It could,” he admitted. “But it might destroy you as well.”
“If need be,” Lachlei said.
Rhyn shook his head. “I would not like that,” he said, gently running his fingers through her hair.
It was then Lachlei realized that she was in Rhyn’s arms. He leaned over and kissed her, and for a moment, she responded. In the month that followed Fialan’s death, Rhyn had been beside her, and yet, she had never thought…
“No!” Lachlei pulled herself away.
A mixture of bewilderment and anger flashed across Rhyn’s face, and Lachlei became afraid. The hint of power that she sensed in Rhyn blazed through him like a door that had been cracked open and then shut. Then, he became Rhyn once more. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that.” He released her and she scrambled to her feet. He followed slowly, meeting her gaze.
Lachlei stared. Did he love her? She had not given any thought about all the time they had spent with each other. She had thought of Rhyn as a warrior and a friend…
“It’s all right,” she found herself saying, but it sounded false to her ears. She picked up Fyren and sheathed the sword. “I’m just very tired and …”
Rhyn’s face was a mask. “It’s all right—I understand.”
Lachlei barely heard his words as she turned and fled to her tent.
36
“Lochvaur?” Fialan repeated. He raised the ghost blade above his head in a defensive posture. Perhaps it did not have Fyren’s power, but maybe the blade would hold its own.
He felt a steady hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Lochvaur standing beside him. “Easy, Fialan,” the godling said. “I’ve been expecting this.”
Fialan lowered his sword. “What?”
“Flayer, it’s been a long time,” Lochvaur said, facing the demon. “What does your lord want with me?” Flayer’s teeth shone. “My lord wants to speak to you now. There has been a change.”
Lochvaur glanced at Fialan. “I was aware of this change,” he said. “What does that have to do with me?”
“I suggest you ask Areyn Sehduk, yourself.”
“Very well, take me to him,” Lochvaur sighed.
“Wait!” said Fialan. “You’re not going without at least one guard.”
The demon and Lochvaur gazed at him curiously. “A guard?” Lochvaur repeated.
“You can’t go without a Chi’lan guard,” Fialan said.
“And who would be my guard?” Lochvaur said. “I can’t promise their safety, nor can they ensure mine.”
Fialan’s gaze steeled. “I’ll go.”
“What are you saying?” Eshe gasped. “Are you insane?”
“Perhaps,” said Fialan. “Perhaps not. But I think I deserve to look on the face of the god who killed me.” He sheathed his sword.
Lochvaur grinned. “Perhaps insane, Eshe, but very brave. I couldn’t ask for a more loyal guard, Fialan.” He turned to Flayer. “Take us both to Areyn now.”
The demon’s jaw opened as though in mocking laughter, but no sound came from it. Instead, it beat its vast wings, and in a sudden rush of darkness both Lochvaur and Fialan were pulled away.
Rhyn’athel had left the encampment and stood within a meadow surrounded by trees. Ancient cairns and rune stones dotted the field. At one time, this had been sacred ground—a small temple to the warrior god had stood here. Even now, the place felt clean and unspoiled.
He sat on a smooth stone and gazed up at Sowelu, the sun, feeling its cold rays on his face. There was much to learn about being mortal, he decided. Far more than he had thought necessary. Had he been so out of touch with this world in two thousand years?
Never had Rhyn’athel experienced such a confusing mix of emotions: his desire for Lachlei and his determination to not hurt her. It was a frustrating merging of passion and restraint. In an earlier time, there would have been no restraint, and as a god, Rhyn’athel would have appeared to Lachlei and loved her. But the Truce had changed everything. He found himself cursing the very Truce he had sought to uphold.
“Welcome to mortality, brother.” The wolf-god leaned against a large cairn. “You were doing well until you kissed her…”
Rhyn’athel glared. “If Lachlei knew who I was…”
“If Lachlei knew who you were, so would Areyn Sehduk,” Ni’yah reminded him.
“I’m a god—the most powerful god in the Nine Worlds—and yet, I can’t even woo a woman. It shouldn’t be this difficult.”
“Need some pointers?” Ni’yah asked wryly. “Lachlei loves me,” Rhyn’athel replied stubbornly. “I could feel it when I kissed her. I know her heart, but she turns from me.”
“Fialan’s ashes are barely scattered,” Ni’yah said. “Even if she knew who you were, I wonder if Lachlei could love you. She loved Fialan deeply.”
“I can’t bring Fialan back,” the warrior god said. “I’m a god of the living, not the dead. The dead are Areyn’s. Even my own son belongs to him.”
“Which makes Areyn Sehduk powerful.” Ni’yah agreed. “Hence, your dilemma.”
“And then, there is the Wyrd,” Rhyn’athel said. “Damn it, Ni’yah! She must be mine, and yet, I can’t have her.”
“You could trick her—become Fialan…”
“No.” Rhyn’athel said it so emphatically that Ni’yah fell silent. “I will not stoop to Areyn’s tactics.” He paused. “And besides, Lachlei would know.”
“And there is a chance Areyn would learn of it,” Ni’yah mused. He paused and a wicked gleam entered his eyes. “I’ll talk to her.”