Lachlei brought back those old emotions. Emotions Rhyn’athel had long buried inside him for the sake of the Truce. Emotions he could not afford to have, and yet still did. The god continued to stare at her. Lachlei was a creature of light. He could sense the power within her—the power that belied her mortality.
He wanted her.
“How long has it been since you were with a woman?” the wolf-god asked. “Two thousand years, I’d wager—maybe longer. Not since the Truce, certainly…”
The remarks snapped Rhyn’athel out of his reverie and he wheeled on his brother. “You knew this would happen.”
“Not, exactly…”
“You’ve just complicated matters.”
“I always do,” Ni’yah agreed. He paused and became serious. “Listen, I would wager half my powers that Areyn Sehduk killed Fialan. I saw your champion die, my brother, and nothing should have been able to hold Fialan’s powers back, save a god. Fialan was the strongest champion you’ve had since Lochvaur, and his powers equaled most godlings.”
Rhyn’athel reluctantly turned his gaze from Lachlei to his brother. He nodded. “That is true—Fialan was powerful.”
“The bodies stink of Areyn’s magic,” Ni’yah replied. “Even Lachlei can feel it, but she doesn’t recognize it because she’s never been up against Areyn. I have.”
“What would you have me do? Destroy the Truce? It will start another war bloodier than the last. And to what purpose, Ni’yah? I can’t kill Areyn anymore than he can destroy me.”
“The problems with being immortal,” Ni’yah remarked dryly.
“We would raze the Nine Worlds,” Rhyn’athel said. “Everything you see here and now would be gone…”
“Lachlei has sworn blood vengeance,” Ni’yah said.
Silence ensued.
“I know. I heard her,” Rhyn’athel replied.
Another silence followed.
“Lachlei will not rest until she avenges Fialan’s death or is dead.”
“What would you have me do?” Rhyn’athel snapped. He turned around and crossed his arms.
“She’ll be lost to Areyn Sehduk if you do nothing,” Ni’yah replied.
“We don’t know Areyn killed Fialan.”
“Yes, we do, but you won’t admit it,” Ni’yah replied. “The sword Lachlei carries is Fialan’s. Fialan blooded it on Areyn before Areyn killed him.”
Rhyn’athel turned around with a fierce gleam in his eyes. “He did? I’m glad to see Fialan gave Areyn something to think about.” “Indeed and no doubt Fialan is paying for that boldness in Areyn’s realm,” Ni’yah said. “But, the proof you seek is on the blade.”
“Indeed,” Rhyn’athel said. His gaze lingered on Lachlei. She had sheathed the sword and now sat cross-legged on the grass, looking into the night’s sky. He could hear her thoughts and feel her underlying power as she stared at the stars. How had he overlooked her? he wondered. Perhaps he had been afraid.
The thought amused the god, but there was some validity. Had Rhyn’athel paid more attention to Lachlei, he might have been tempted to enter the Fifth World—as he was doing so now. If Areyn Sehduk learned of the transgression—however minor, Areyn would use that as an excuse to raze this world. He would destroy the Eleion as he had destroyed the others that had occupied the worlds he took—in favor of his own twisted creations. The Eleion would be no more, nor would their descendants, the Ansgar, hope to survive under Areyn’s reign. Areyn ruled the dead as well—taking away Rhyn’athel’s warriors as he had done with Fialan.
Rhyn’athel’s gaze lingered on Lachlei. To allow her to die—to be taken from him until the end of time—was unbearable. Rhyn’athel turned his gaze inward, using the Sight to look into the future…
“Brother?”
Rhyn’athel’s silver eyes had glazed over. They now snapped back to attention, and he stared at Ni’yah. Resolution within them told Ni’yah that Rhyn’athel had seen something the wolf-god could not. “You meddler!” he growled and with that, Rhyn’athel vanished, leaving Ni’yah bemused.
“By Rhyn’athel’s sword!” Cara swore. “What is happening to our people?” The daughter of Silvain stood under the stars with the few warriors who were loyal to her. Twenty Silren warriors had agreed to meet in the rolling plains, far from the silver fortress to debate the turn of events. They had ridden their horses under the night’s sky until they reached a small hillock called Silwar.
Silwar had been an old temple or shrine to Elisila, one of the goddesses of light and the goddess of the Silren and Elesil. The ruins had been there longer than Cara remembered—indeed, it had been there before the Truce. The Fyr had destroyed life throughout the Nine Worlds, but it did not destroy everything from the earlier times. The warriors dismounted and sat amid the broken stones and Cara stood before them.
“I wouldn’t say that too loudly, Commander,” Haukel remarked. “Silvain would have our heads if he knew there were followers of the warrior god amidst his kindred.”
“I am his daughter,” Cara replied brusquely. “His only heir.”
“I don’t even think that will save us, if Silvain finds out,” a woman warrior named Tora spoke. “Gods protect us, but there is something wrong with Akwel.”
“You noticed that too?” Cara remarked and glanced at the others for confirmation. There was a murmur of consensus. “Akwel and I have never been friends, but I sense something is terribly wrong. To go against the Chi’lan warriors is folly.”
“But what can we do?” Haukel said, his hands outstretched in a helpless gesture. “Rhyn’athel knows Silvain won’t listen to reason.”
Cara met his gaze. “He may listen to me,” she said. “I am his only heir.”
“Too risky,” Haukel replied. “There are too many warriors against us. As Akwel grows in power, he will have your father’s ear.”
“Then, we’d better act now,” Cara remarked. “Before it’s too late.”
“No, we can’t risk you,” Haukel said. The Silren broke into arguing.
“Enough!” spoke Cara, causing the warriors to fall silent. “I alone will speak to Silvain, though I may risk exile because of it. I am his only heir, and that may stop him from having me put to death as a traitor.”
“If he exiles you, what then?” Haukel asked.
Cara shook her head, her pale blue eyes filled with worry. “I don’t know, Haukel. I don’t know.”
7
Lachlei walked from the quietness of the hill. She didn’t want to leave—for the first time, she had felt close to the warrior god. Fialan had often told her that Rhyn’athel held the Lochvaur and especially the Chi’lan in the highest regard, but she had never felt the closeness to Rhyn’athel that Fialan felt. Fialan’s power, he had said, came from Rhyn’athel, himself.
As Lachlei turned to gaze at the dying flames of the pyre, she couldn’t help but wonder what went wrong. Why had the warrior god failed Fialan at this last moment? What creature was powerful enough to destroy a Chi’lan champion? She drew the sword, Fyren, again and gazed on the darkened blade, but did not use her powers for fear of the same reaction. Something vile had killed Fialan. Something vile that bled, she thought darkly.
If it could bleed, it could die.
She sheathed the sword again. Lachlei had heard of vile creatures from Areyn’s realm. Demons capable of destroying lives. The Lochvaur had fought against such creatures in the times before the Truce between Areyn Sehduk and Rhyn’athel. Maybe there was one left in this world.