Cahal nodded. “The army will be ready by nightfall.”
“Good, see to it.”
Cahal left and Lachlei shook her head. Exhaustion crept over her and she closed her eyes.
It wasn’t long before Lachlei sensed another presence in the room. She kept her eyes closed but allowed her hand to drop to her hilt.
“Not a bad trick, but it needs more subtlety,” remarked Rhyn.
Lachlei opened her eyes. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
A glint of puzzlement shone in Rhyn’s eyes. “Lachlei, I came to apologize,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you…”
Lachlei’s gaze narrowed. “You didn’t hurt me,” she said. Even to her ears, her tone was clipped.
Rhyn straightened slightly. “Perhaps I didn’t,” he said, his voice neutral. He turned to leave.
“Wait…” Lachlei hesitated. Rhyn turned around and gave her an appraising look. “Listen, Rhyn,” she whispered. “I’m sorry—it’s just too soon.”
Resignation filled his eyes. “Of course, Lachlei, I understand.”
She shook her head. “That’s good, because I don’t,” she admitted. “You’re still my commander, Rhyn.”
He smiled wryly. “I didn’t think you’d demote me just yet.” He paused.
“Let’s go—the army is almost ready to leave.”
Fialan stared into the swollen red sun of Tarentor. What had Areyn meant that Lachlei was to be fought over by two gods? The two gods were obvious—Rhyn’athel and Areyn Sehduk—but why? Why did she hold the fate of the Nine Worlds?
Returning to Elren had awakened a burning desire to return to the world of the living. Areyn could not have been crueler by offering a drowning man a gulp of air. Fialan knew he could not return as one of the living, but would he return to fight against his own people? Part of him loathed the prospect; but another part desired to return to Elren. Even if it meant killing his own kindred.
He had seen nothing of Lochvaur since they had returned. No doubt Lochvaur was fuming over his failure to break Areyn’s power. But it was not much of a failure, Fialan thought. No god, save Rhyn’athel—not even the only other Athel’cen, Ni’yah—could defeat Areyn Sehduk. Lochvaur was Eleion—he couldn’t expect to defeat a Wyrd-born god.
Eshe stood beside Fialan silently. She hadn’t pressed him for answers when he chose to remain silent. Now he simply stood on the battlement, leaning against a merlon, while she kept him company. It was nearly midday when Fialan decided to enter into the great hall.
Fialan strode through the labyrinth of corridors to the great hall, Eshe following him like a shadow. Lochvaur sat on the throne, his eyes dark and angry at what he had to do. Fialan strode to the throne; those around him parted at his presence. Lochvaur’s gaze fell on Fialan and a rueful smile crossed the godling’s lips. “It wasn’t what either of us expected, was it, Fialan?”
Fialan took a deep breath. “What did Areyn mean when he spoke of Lachlei?”
Pity entered Lochvaur’s eyes. “I had hoped you’d be spared the knowledge,” he admitted. “I told you, Fialan, that this would be a trying time for you…”
“What?”
“The Wyrd, Fialan, has changed.” He shook his head. “There is no easy way to tell you. Lachlei will bear sons who will end this conflict.”
Fialan paused. “My son, Haellsil?”
Lochvaur shook his head. “Twin sons—the sons of a god. The sons of one of the Athel’cen.”
Silence ensued. “Lachlei is my wife…”
“Was your wife,” Lochvaur corrected. “Death has a nasty habit of changing things. The vows you took to each other are no more.”
“And so either Rhyn’athel or Areyn is going to bed her like some common whore?” Fialan snarled.
“Fialan!” “And I’m supposed to accept this—be the good Chi’lan warrior that I am and accept that my own god is…” Fialan fell silent in disbelief.
“Fialan,” whispered Eshe.
“Leave me alone, Eshe!” he snapped.
Lochvaur drew himself up to full height. “You were never intended for Lachlei, Fialan. The Wyrd has a habit of correcting itself when there is a dead-end. No one discerned Lachlei’s pattern until Rhyn’athel saw her for the first time and the Wyrd rewove itself.”
“You’re in league with this,” Fialan snarled. He turned to leave. “Keep me out of it and leave me alone.”
“If I could,” Lochvaur replied. “I certainly would. But I have no will in this, Fialan. You are in the thick of this battle, whether you choose to accept it or not.” He paused. “And you will fight beside me in Elren.”
“No, I won’t,” Fialan replied. He shot Lochvaur a withering look before storming out of the hall.
39
“Fialan?” Eshe said tentatively. Fialan sat on a windswept hill, dotted with saw grass. He stared into the cloudless, dark sky. He had left the fortress and climbed the hill as far away from people and the fortress as he could. She had followed him silently and waited as he sat there overlooking the plains.
“Leave me alone, Eshe,” he said. The anger was hot inside him. How could Rhyn’athel betray him? The warrior god had allowed Areyn to kill him and now Rhyn’athel would bed Lachlei.
“No, Fialan,” she said, crouching beside him. “I know you’re in a lot of pain right now…”
“Eshe, you have no idea…”
“I think I do,” she said. “Fialan, I thought you were stronger than that.”
He stared at her. “What do you know of strength?”
“I have suffered here every day since I died. I saw my two sons die in battle before me. I saw my husband and fellow Chi’lan die…”
“Then you at least have them,” he said, turning away.
“No, I don’t,” Eshe said. “Oh yes, they exist in this world, but they are gone. Gone for good.”
Fialan stared at her. “What do you mean? You say we can’t die here.”
“We can’t die, but there’s something like death here,” Eshe said. “We’re all going through it, even now. Each day, this world robs us of ourselves, Fialan. Each day, we die a little more. Haven’t you noticed the warriors here, Fialan? How flat and emotionless they’ve become? They’ve lost hope, until now. Until you told us the Truce has ended.”
Tears ran down her face and he reached out and touched her cheek. “I don’t understand, Eshe.”
“My family is out there, somewhere. They neither recognize me nor acknowledge my presence. They’ve each become one of the soulless, Fialan. They remain mindless, emotionless…” Her voice wavered. “They are truly Undead.”
“Eshe, I…”
“I was becoming one of those, Fialan, until you arrived…”
Fialan fell silent. “But, Eshe, I have lost my beloved wife…”
“Lachlei is lost to you,” she said. “You can never see or touch her again until she dies. Even then, your love will not be the same.”
“But the gods…”
“Be glad Lachlei is part of this conflict,” she said. “And be glad Rhyn’athel may love her—he will save her from this cursed existence.”
Fialan said nothing, but did not push her away as she rested her hand on his shoulder. Instead, Fialan held it gently as they both watched the sun disappear below the horizon.
Imdyr lay naked across the cot within Areyn Sehduk’s tent. She laid on several thick layers of bear skins, her gleaming form contrasting against the russet fur. Her gaunt body looked almost too fragile for the power within it.
Two days had passed since the retreat. As daylight approached, Areyn risked setting up camp. His instinct was to keep pressing forward until he could bring reinforcements, but the Silren were exhausted and at the edge of rebellion. Using the Sight, he realized that the Lochvaur stayed their pursuit, choosing to rest. He ordered the army to make camp and posted a watch.