“What?” Kiril said.
“Eshe is trying to escape,” Fialan said.
Kiril’s face turned pale. “Areyn will whip her.” He paused. “Do you know where she is?”
Fialan nodded. “This way.” Fialan led Kiril from the tent, past several more tents and westward into the forest. Here, Fialan paused and gazed at the tracks in the snow. There were a myriad of tracks even here, many of which continued into the forest. He tried to summon his Sight to determine which track Eshe had taken, but to no avail.
“Eshe went this way,” Kiril said as he knelt down, examining one set of tracks in the snow. He pointed at one set that traveled northwestward.
Fialan gazed at the prints in the snow. “How can you be sure? There’s too many to distinguish.”
“I can,” Kiril said. “I’m a tracker. Those other footprints were made some hours ago—these are fresh. They’re about the same size of a woman’s track, too.” He sighed. “Damn it, Eshe,” he grumbled. “You’re going to get us all flayed for this.”
Fialan turned to Kiril. “How do we know that we’ll get caught if we try to escape?”
Kiril shrugged. “Our bodies are linked to Tarentor. If we go too far from Areyn or one of the demons, we’ll lose them. Areyn doesn’t need massive numbers of demons to look over us because we’ll lose our corporeal selves.” He paused. “At least, that’s what Areyn has told us.”
“Lochvaur believes that, too,” Fialan mused. “We have to find Eshe.”
“Follow me, then,” Kiril said. He led Fialan through the snow in the forest.
Fialan marveled at Kiril’s strength as the snow began to run deep; the Shara’kai Chi’lan plowed through it tirelessly. “The deep snow has slowed her down,”
Kiril remarked. He stomped the snow around them so Fialan could see the tracks ahead. “You purebloods don’t have the stamina of the Shara’kai.”
Fialan studied the tracks. Although Eshe was tall for a woman, she was still not as tall as either Fialan or Kiril. By the tracks, it looked as if she was wading in the snow. He gazed at the long shadows and the tracks that seemed to go on endlessly. “That’s true,” he said. He glanced at Kiril. “She’d try to get where the snow might be less deep.”
“That’d be higher ground,” Kiril replied. He pointed to some rocks in the distance. “Eshe would go there and probably rest. Maybe for the night.”
Fialan gazed at them. “It’ll be dusk soon. Is there an easier way for us to parallel her tracks?”
Kiril nodded. “We’re on the lee side of the hill where the snow collects. The higher we get along the ridge, the easier it will be to walk on.” He pointed above them. “It’ll be hard going ‘til we get to the top of that rise.”
Fialan nodded, trusting Kiril’s ability. As they crested the rise, the snow level dropped to a few inches and they were able to walk along it towards the rocks ahead. As Sowelu started sinking lower in the horizon, they reached the rocky outcroppings. Cold and sweat-drenched in their armor, they climbed the rocks to overlook the land below them. Eshe sat next to a small pile of branches and deadwood she had collected and was busy striking her flint.
She looked up and saw them. Drawing her sword, she backed away. “No, Fialan!” she shouted. “I’m not going back!”
“Eshe! No!” Fialan said, scrambling down the rocks. He did not draw his sword. “Eshe, Lochvaur says there’s another way.”
“Kiril—tell him—I can’t go back!” Eshe said. “Fialan, we eat and drink…”
“Eshe, you’ll lose your form—we’ll all lose our forms if we don’t return,” Kiril said. “Be reasonable. We can’t leave the army…”
“That’s what Areyn says,” she said. “We don’t know that! Maybe among the living we, too, can live…” She backed away from them.
“Eshe, no,” Fialan said calmly. “Come back with me before the demons find us. There is another way.”
“No!” Eshe turned and fled.
“Rhyn’athel’s blood!” Fialan swore. He and Kiril ran forward, hoping to catch her.
Eshe shrieked and halted in mid run; her body caught in flame. Before Fialan could stop, both he and Kiril were caught in the fire as well. Excruciating pain, worse than anything Fialan had experienced ran through him. Unable to move, but writhing in agony, Fialan heard Areyn’s mocking laughter.
I suspected you three would be the first to try to escape. You’re predictable, Fialan.
Blinded now, Fialan could only suffer the torture and listen to Areyn’s words.
What should I do with them, Lochvaur? They are yours.
Indeed, they are mine, Lochvaur said, his voice strong and clear in Fialan’s mind. Two of them were trying to keep the other from fleeing.
It matters not, Areyn said. They have violated my law. Will you take responsibility for them?
Silence ensued.
Will you?
Damn you, Areyn. I’ll remember this.
As you have so idly threatened me in the past. Will you take responsibility for their actions?
I will, Lochvaur said heavily.
Fialan fell unconscious and knew no more.
45
It was late when Lachlei and her warriors returned to their camp. Because the Chi’lan were in pursuit of the Silren, a full camp would take too much time to set up and break, so they bivouacked in the cold, huddled around their fires for warmth.
Rhyn’athel held Lachlei as she lay beside him, shivering in the cold. Despite her offhanded rejection of him before, she let Rhyn’athel wrap his arms around her and his cloak around both of them to keep her warm. Lachlei’s proximity aroused him, but he knew his armor, even though it was flexible mail, would conceal it. He was glad she was facing away from him, or his expression would betray his emotions.
Lachlei’s own emotions twisted inside her. Rhyn had awoken an old passion. She could feel his power as he held her. He reminded her of her beloved Fialan.
No. That wasn’t it. Rhyn was Rhyn. Fialan, as dearly as she had loved her husband, was not the warrior Rhyn was. Fialan did not have Rhyn’s intensity or his singular purpose. Lachlei had never met a man like Rhyn, save perhaps Telek. Laddel, too, seemed like Rhyn in a way, but even he deferred to Rhyn. Could Rhyn be a godling—or something else?
She had sworn to avenge Fialan, and yet Rhyn drew her to him even now. When he kissed her, she had wanted him. And yet, the hesitation was there.
She felt Rhyn shift. “Rhyn,” she whispered. “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” he said, his tone neutral.
“Are you worried about the battle tomorrow?” she asked.
Rhyn’s response was a noncommittal shrug. “Perhaps.”
Lachlei fell silent, content to feel his rhythmic breathing. “Why is Areyn here and not Rhyn’athel?”
“Who says Rhyn’athel isn’t here?”
Lachlei turned her head, catching his smile. “Do you believe the warrior god is with us?”
“I do.”
“Then this is a battle of the war between the gods,” Lachlei whispered.
“Indeed,” he agreed. “It is a part.”
“Do you know about the war—the war between the gods?” Lachlei asked.
“A little—what has been passed down from Rhyn’el, Lochvaur’s son.”
She smiled; she had heard a hedge in his voice. She turned around in his arms, facing him. “What do you know, Rhyn?”
“What do you wish to know?”
“How did Rhyn’athel defeat Areyn?”
Rhyn’athel shrugged. “I suppose he just outfought Areyn,” he said, not meeting her gaze.
Lachlei smiled as she saw his discomfort. “Rhyn’athel outfought the god of death?”
“Areyn is an Athel’cen, same as Rhyn’athel and Ni’yah,” Rhyn replied. “He is a very powerful god, but Rhyn’athel is more powerful. Those three gods are Wyrd-born—their powers are beyond the other gods.”