“So, why the Truce?”
“An Athel’cen can’t be destroyed,” Rhyn replied. “Their nature is woven through the Web of Wyrd. Rhyn’athel couldn’t destroy Areyn Sehduk any more than Areyn could destroy him. The war had destroyed all the worlds and had even devastated a large portion of Athelren…”
“Why?” Rhyn smiled sadly. “The Fyr.”
Lachlei stared. “The Fyr? What is that?”
“The Fyr is the Eternal Fire of creation and destruction. The Athel’cen can use it, but no one else can—not even the other gods.”
“What is it?”
“The power to create and destroy,” Rhyn said, his eyes glowing in the ruddy light of the fire. “It exists within all things. Rhyn’athel and Ni’yah use it to create; Areyn to destroy.” He propped his chin on one arm and met her gaze. “Why are you curious about the Fyr?”
“Could it be used against us again?”
“It could,” he admitted. “But Areyn isn’t that desperate. Not yet.”
His confidence was reassuring, and Lachlei pulled herself closer to him. She could feel him respond as her body pressed against his. Her face was only a few inches from his. “Rhyn,” she whispered. “I’ve reacted badly.”
Puzzlement glinted in Rhyn’s eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I never thought I could love another,” she said. “And yet, I love you.”
Rhyn stared at her as if not believing he had heard correctly. Lachlei pulled him towards her and kissed him. Rhyn took her in his arms and kissed her hungrily. She responded, sliding her hands over his mailshirt and unbuckling his swordbelt.
A scream shattered their passion. Rhyn was already on his feet, refastening the belt and drawing his sword. Another scream—this time louder—and Lachlei could see the anger in his eyes. “What is it?”
“Demon,” Rhyn growled. His Sword of Power was glowing as he eyes followed the unseen menace above them.
Lachlei stood up, her silver eyes trying to see the demon. She had instinctively drawn her sword and could see something moving above the encampment, but nothing substantial. Rhyn’s focus was so completely on it, that she found it easier to watch him than try to discern the demon in the dark sky.
Other warriors were to their feet as well. Rhyn’s eyes glowed menacingly. “Reveal yourself, Heath-stalker!”
The demon screamed, and Lachlei caught her breath. The demon stood above them, its wings beating furiously. Its long serpent neck was furred, and it had the head of a wolf. Yellow eyes glowed as it growled at the warrior god.
Cahal was beside her, pulling her away from Rhyn. “No!” she snapped.
“Let Rhyn do his job!” Cahal hissed. “He’s a demon slayer—let him kill it.”
Suddenly, the demon screamed and dove, but not at Rhyn. Instead, the demon charged right at her. Lachlei swung Fyren, trying to focus on her power. The blade parried the demon’s massive claws, throwing her backward.
She heard Cahal’s cry from somewhere behind her and saw the demon rise above her, its claws posed to grasp her.
A yell and a blinding flash. Black blood and drool poured from the slavering creature. Wings and claws whirled around her, and Lachlei thrust her sword upward as the demon bore down on her.
Lachlei could not breathe or see. The demon’s weight crushed her. Then, for a moment, she saw a warrior glazed in light, his sword glowing in his hands. He looked like Rhyn, and yet wasn’t. This warrior was powerful and terrifying. He thrust the sword deep into the demon and it thrashed.
Was it Rhyn’athel, himself? Her thoughts went back to Rhyn’s words. He seemed confident that the warrior god was with them.
“Lachlei?” Rhyn’s voice snapped her out of the vision. “Are you all right?” Gone was the warrior god, replace by darkness and demon-stench. Rhyn and several of the Chi’lan pushed the demon’s body from her. As the body rolled off, Lachlei freed Fyren from the demon’s chest. Fyren had cut through the demon’s thick armor and into its heart.
“I think so,” she said. Despite being covered in gore, Lachlei had not been injured. She found it odd that the demon tried to pick her up, not rake her. It had purposely avoided Rhyn, its obvious challenger.
Rhyn grinned as he saw the wound. “You killed it,” he said. “I only managed to pierce its hide in the back.”
Lachlei wiped the blood from her blade and considered Rhyn thoughtfully. “That’s not what I saw,” she said quietly, meeting his gaze.
Rhyn tilted his head. “What did you see?”
Rhyn’athel.
Rhyn started at the name. “Are you sure?” he breathed.
You are Rhyn’athel’s champion, not me, Lachlei said. That is why you were so certain Rhyn’athel is with us.
Rhyn relaxed visibly. Nonsense, he said. You bear the mark of Rhyn’athel.
46
Fialan awoke in a tent at the army’s encampment. Every nerve burned within him, and he lay in agony for a while. Slowly, as the pain diminished, he was able to see again.
“Easy, Fialan, you’ve been through a lot.”
As his eyes focused, Fialan looked up and saw his father’s face. “Father?”
Lochalan nodded. He sat beside Fialan, looking much as Fialan remembered him. Fialan smiled as he realized how close he had come to resemble him. “Yes, my son, though I wish our meeting was under happier circumstances.” “Where are Eshe and Kiril?”
“They’re both resting. You should rest as well.”
“Lochvaur,” Fialan said. “I heard Areyn and Lochvaur talking.”
Lochalan shook his head, but said nothing. His eyes hardened. “What were you doing away from the army?”
“Eshe—she…” Fialan paused. “She was disoriented from leaving Tarentor. She wandered away and got lost,” he lied. “Kiril and I went looking for her.”
“A noble gesture, but one you shouldn’t have made.”
Fialan sat up. “Lochvaur. Where’s Lochvaur?”
Lochalan hesitated.
“Father?”
“Lochvaur has taken the punishment intended for all of you.”
“Punishment?” Fialan stared, remembering the conversation between Lochvaur and Areyn.
Will you take responsibility for their actions?
“A flaying,” Lochalan said.
“No,” breathed Fialan. “Why? If Areyn wanted to punish anyone, he should have punished me.”
“Lochvaur is responsible for his men’s actions,” his father said. “Just as you would take responsibility for your own men.”
“But a flaying?”
“The demons wouldn’t have shown any mercy, my son. I don’t think you would’ve been able to recover from those wounds on top of your new body.”
“My new body?” Fialan stared at his hands. They looked the same.
“When you hit the perimeter, you burned off your body. That was the pain you felt. You’re not up to full strength yet.”
Fialan sat on the edge of the bed. His armor had been removed, and he was barefoot but he wore a tunic and breeches. “Where’s Lochvaur?”
“Resting—as you should be.”
Fialan tried to stand. Nausea assailed him as the room began to spin. He closed his eyes, fighting the heaves from his empty stomach before standing up.
“You’re more stubborn than even I remember,” Lochalan said. “You won’t be up to strength for at least a day.”
“I need to speak to Lochvaur,” Fialan said. He glanced around and saw that Eshe and Kiril lay unconscious beside him. Both looked deathly pale, and their eyes were open and unseeing. Fialan stared at them in horror. “Eshe? Kiril?” He turned to his father. “Are they…?”